


Big Bad Wolf

by RomanosCheese



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Basically everyone gets involved in the shit he's created, Canon Compliant, Chwe Hansol | Vernon Being An Idiot, Chwe Hansol | Vernon-centric, Crying, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, GUESS WHAT, Growing Up, Haha I know my analogy game is ON point, Halloween Costumes, He's an asshat, He's red riding hood, Hoshi is the grandma, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, Is that too much of a spoiler, Jeonghan has good intentions, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Not necessarily sex, Panic Attacks, Set between Very Nice and Boom Boom (October 2016), Seungkwan in shorts, Tears, Totally original stuff, Vernon is a dumb teenager, Vernon just really lacks self awareness, WiseHyungs.com, nah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 12:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanosCheese/pseuds/RomanosCheese
Summary: Hansol is no longer the shy little kid he was when they've first met, and somehow, they would both have to come to terms with it.a.k.a Vernon being a big dumb dumb with social ineptitude, fucking things up and getting some life lessons from his hyungs (and a few bruises).





	1. D-21

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this more than two years ago and finished around July of last year, as such this is set just between Very Nice and Boom Boom era, so October 2016. This was intially inspired by Seungkwan's comment on Star Show 360 where he said Vernon's like a puppy who grew into a big dog.  
> Figured I'd post this here since I recently went over it on my aff account and caught a lot of mistakes, so I of course had to fix everything and repost it there. Hope you enjoy!

**D-21**

  
October 10th, 2:56 AM  


  
  
Hansol has been in deep thought lately, pondering over what was and what is. Who he was and who he is.  
  
Old memories from the last four years resurface in his consciousness and the image of a pale and lanky kid appears behind his tired eyelids when he lies down in bed at night.  
  
When the sounds of the bustling city and his noisy members fade into a faint buzzing at the back of his brain, that's when Hansol tends to think the loudest. That's when his head fills with copious musings, most of them far too ridiculous to translate into coherent human words.

  
It's usually a pleasant pastime — something he does in order to forget about things that worry him throughout the day; like his family's well being and the placement of SEVENTEEN's songs on the charts, or the hate comments he happens to stumble upon while doing his daily monitoring.  
  
Hansol prefers to push all those prickling thoughts aside in favor of nicer ones: innocent dreams, silly assumptions and meaningless theories that would surely result in his immediate admission to a mental facility if ever voiced out loud. To the wrong person, that is.  
  
Hansol likes to share his ideas; it helps him immerse himself in the 'other reality'. The one that comes after everyone else has gotten to sleep, when the harsh lights of Seoul hide behind the thick curtains of the dorm and he's left alone with his restless mind, building countless air castles on top of each other in the dark spot above his head.  
  
On most nights he'd already be in someone else's bed by now, whispering his most secret and private thoughts into a delicate shoulder, a familiar and warm hand brushing hair behind his ear as he slowly drifts into sleep.  
  
But this time it's different. This time he can't allow himself the luxury of company. This time he's truly alone with the aching in his chest, trying to organize his swirling emotions into less of a complete mess.  
  
This time instead of comfortable rambling about nothing in particular, he's forced to remember things that have happened a long time ago in a new, confusing — and dare he say scary — light.  
  
Hansol remembers that little kid he once was — the awkward fourteen year old boy with the sheepish, crooked smile.  
  
He remembers how unsure he was back then. Unsure he would be able to work toward his dream. Afraid he wasn't talented enough and won't survive the tough competition. Frightened out of his wits from meeting the other boys — the other trainees whom he would have to live with and practice alongside to and fight against to earn a spot in a group that may or may not debut one day.  
  
But as it turned out, he had nothing to be scared of. Because just beside that deathly quiet and terrified child, always stood another boy — his perfect opposite.  
  
A boy who came up to him with a warm welcome smile on the first time they were introduced to each other. A boy who was so excited to discover that the two of them were the same age, and immediately decided they would become best of friends.  
  
The boy who laughed and joked and talked the loudest out of all the other guys. The boy who poked fun at the older trainees like it was nothing, and had a know-it-all, easygoing attitude.  
  
That boy was the same one to reach out for him on every available chance, to consistently ask for hugs and kisses, to naturally lace their hands together in silent promise. A promise to be there for him until the very end (he did often say that he would always protect Hansol, that it was his duty as the older one).  
  
The boy who helped him come out of his shell four years ago was the same boy Hansol would mostly likely be curled up in his arms right now, if not for the fact that everything was entirely different this time.  
  
Hansol goes over all the multiple changes that occurred in his life ever since the beginning of his journey to become an idol, from the least major to the most prominent.  
  
For starters, they are only thirteen members when once they used to be a lot more. He knows that Samuel made his debut with another company, they even met a few times. But aside from that, he hasn't heard much about the other three except that Doyoon was training to become an actor.    
  
Hansol remembers little, unimportant details from the past. Like games they would often play together on 17tv and how during those games, Seungcheol would roughhouse anyone who had dared cross paths with him (now he is far more gentle with the others). How MingMing and Junhui were always together, practically attached at the hip (MingMing is one of the four trainees who've quit). How Jihoon would make sure everyone got the choreography just right (Hoshi is the main dancer of SEVENTEEN), and how Jeonghan used to be so quiet when he first joined the company (now he tends to speak his mind more often than not).  
  
Hansol remembers everyone with black, straight hair and himself with a brown frizzy mop on top of his head, a lot shorter than what he is now and wearing braces.  
  
God, he used to detest those things with an undying passion; he was very conscious about his looks back then. He was very conscious about a lot of things back then.  
  
Yes, everything is different now. Everyone has changed somehow. Now they were wearing stylish clothes and sporting bright hair colors. They had a packed schedule and thousands of fans all over the world. Hansol was now called Vernon — Seventeen's 'half' member and '4D' rapper — and although he was a tall, conventionally good looking guy with straight, perfectly white teeth (and also a lot less self-conscious) in a sense he still felt the same way as four years ago.  
  
Hansol had never imagined that their fame would skyrocket in just one year of activities.  
  
The memories from his trainee days are still very fresh in his mind.  
  
How could he just let go of more than three years of his life? Three years full of laughter and joy, three whole years full of countless hardships and tormenting despair. And in some instances, full of relentless hunger pangs that would keep him wide awake at night and long-lasting cold bites — those times he can't possibly forget.    
  
Those three years preceding his current reality as a semi-well known musician are maybe the most substantial years of his life.  And now— Now everything is just... so strikingly different.  
  
Although Hansol had learned how to welcome all the changes in his life with open arms, they've still been a little difficult for him to digest; like a scar that remained on his skin when every other part of his body seemed to rejuvenate.  
  
Change was something inevitable, Hansol knew that. Adapting new routines and ways of thinking was something everyone was ought to do as they went through life. It was a good thing. Changes were what got him out of the practice room and brought him to the where he is today, performing on stage.  
  
It was just that there were some things that Hansol wasn't quite ready to accept yet. Or rather, things he couldn't grasp the full meaning of.  
  
For four long years Hansol had always had one thing that he could be completely certain of. One thing he was convinced would always stay exactly the same.  
  
That thing was him and Seungkwan.  
  
But not anymore.  
  
Their relationship didn't change, and at the same time It couldn't be any more different.  
  
Seungkwan still acted like he was the taller one out of the two of them, the one to comfort Hansol and tell him everything is going to be alright with a radiating grin. He still pinched his cheeks and ruffled his hair messily like they've never moved on from the time they were both living in their own little world — two naive kids playing foolish games in a green practice room to pass time until their indeterminate debut date.  
  
Hansol doesn't know when this behavior started to irk him. Doesn't know when Seungkwan's doting affection began to result in scorching-hot needles that collected around his heart instead of the pleasant warmth he was so accustomed to.  
  
He couldn't trust himself not to do something stupid in light of these new feelings. And so, he took his sweet time trying to understand them — dissecting each and every leap his chest made in sight of one of Seungkwan's careless smiles, carefully examining the jolts of heat that spread across his entire body when the other came too close for comfort and he could feel that sickeningly sweet scent, enveloping his whole being.  
  
Sometimes, when Hansol needed to release some pent up tension he'd go take a long, hot shower. And as the rushing water filled the silence of the washroom, when the sharp tapping of water drops echoed through the steamy air and obscured the sound of his quickening breath, that's when he'd lean one forearm on the cool tiles of the shower wall and let his mind wander to dark, forbidden places. Places he knew he should have never allowed his thoughts an access to.  
  
But no matter how many times Hansol had tried to force the images out of his head, somehow he always ended up coming with a certain boy's name hissed through his gritted teeth. And when that happened, a wave of guilt would instantly wash over him and he'd feel like the biggest piece of shit in the all of existence. It was wrong — so fucking wrong — and it definitely didn't do Seungkwan any justice. His best friend was way more than just a 'nice piece of ass' to fuel his disgusting fantasies with.  
  
It was dangerous, this weird attraction. The strange longing that tugged at Hansol's intestines whenever Seungkwan looked at him with that unbearable tenderness in his eyes, peeking at him through agonizingly long lashes.  
  
Hansol didn't understand any of it. So he took his sweet time trying to understand — turning in his mind every single memory from the last four years in a desperate attempt to untie the knot of questions sitting heavily at the pit of his stomach.  
  
Even on this specific night, Hansol knows damn well that he isn't even the least close to understanding. He sighs into his hands with all the exhaustion that piles up in his lungs as he slowly rolls onto his back, listening closely to anything but his excruciating thoughts. Eventually the deafening quiet of the room pains him too much and he sits up on his mattress, looking at the rising motions of the peaceful bodies around him and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.  
  
Hansol shifts the center of his weight onto his toes as he lifts himself off of the bed (carefully, as to not to wake his bunk-mate up) and shuffles towards the door with staggering limbs. His throat is so-so dry. His hand clamps around his neck tightly as he swallows the bitter lump of nerves at the back of his mouth.  
  
Hansol walks straight to the kitchen, not stopping even once in his tracks, fearing his thoughts would take over if he so much as cease moving. Once he gets to his destination, he reaches blindly into one of the cupboards and grabs a glass from inside, closing it as quietly as he can right after.    
  
"Can't sleep, huh?"  
  
Hansol immediately turns around at the sound of a soft voice. He blinks a couple of times before he can draw the faint lines of a wry silhouette in the darkness.  
  
"Yes..."  
  
His eyes gradually adjust to the black surroundings and the blurry form in front of him now wears very distinct and all-too recognizable features: a set of kind, cat-like eyes and a gentle smile.  
  
Hansol goes over to where Jisoo is perched on the kitchen counter, just a few steps away from the sink. He opens the tap and starts filling his glass, the water almost spilling over when his brain inevitably starts working again, but Jisoo clears his throat and pulls him out of his stupor before that can happen.  
  
Hansol looks up at him in a startle and retracts his hand from the sink, shutting the water off with the other.  
  
"I was thinking about my mom," Jisoo whispers into his own already-empty glass. "You?" He directs his gaze ever-so-slightly toward Hansol.  
  
_He didn't get to see her over Chuseok,_ Hansol reminds himself guiltily. What right does he have to feel bad about something as stupid and simple as a mere feeling — a frivolous emotion, a passing thought; nothing concrete. Moreover, how does Hansol even dare feel so utterly miserable about something he can't even begin to describe with rational words? His family didn't live on the opposite end of the planet, after all. His worries were so small in comparison.  
  
"Nothing, really," Hansol says and stands at the other side of the sink. "Just stuff..."  
  
Jisoo hums and drums his fingertips on his glass with light, calculated motions, letting a heavy blanket of silence settle between them.  
  
Hansol can't bring himself to drink and all he can think of is how much his throat is burning.  
  
"I'm going back to bed," Jisoo announces quietly after a while and puts his glass in the sink. "Goodnight, man."  
  
"Yeah, you too."  
  
Jisoo makes his way to the kitchen entrance, and just when it seems like he'll disappear into the dark stillness of the house, he spins around and gives Hansol a quizzical look.  
  
_"Are you okay?"_ he questions in English, tiny wrinkles forming on his forehead.  
  
Hansol's throat is on fire and his heart starts hammering against his ribcage in a worrying rate. He's almost convinced that Jisoo is able to hear the loud thumps in his chest because the older's face twists in something that he can only describe as pity.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." Hansol nods slowly, and makes a point of looking Jisoo in the eye. His hands are shaking and he presses them rigidly against the countertop behind him, the harsh sensation lulling him into strangely comforting numbness.  
  
The older breathes a sigh of relief at Hansol's words and a thin smile pulls at the corners of his lips.  
  
_"Goodnight, Vernon."_  
  
_"Goodnight, Josh."_  
  
Once Jisoo is completely out of the kitchen and Hansol can't hear the sound of his footsteps anymore, he tightens his grip on the water glass and brings it to his lips with a single swift motion, drinking everything in one gulp.  
  
Hansol chokes when a certain face flashes vividly in front of his eyes. The sudden vision in turn, reduces him to a fit of violent coughs, back hunched over the sink and hands grasping at its edges almost desperately as he gasps for air. Eventually, he manages to come back to his senses and his body limply slides to the floor, head banging on one of the drawers on his shameful way down.  
  
Hansol groans in pain and rubs the fresh bruise that's beginning to swell up on his forehead. It hurts. It hurts really badly.  
  
  
  
Fuck, he's so fucking stupid.  
  



	2. D-14

**D-14**

  
October 17th, 11:47 PM  
  
  
  
  
Hansol would’ve greatly appreciated it if Seungcheol hadn't decided to forcefully drag him out of the recording room as soon as Jihoon declared a ‘job well done’ that evening. He was having a pretty relaxed time up until then by letting himself get lost in the energetic pace of the rap he was assigned to deliver — essentially choosing to forget all about his irrelevant woes and worries in favor of the music he was helping to create.  
  
It had been a simple-enough task. After all, adapting to a certain rhythm was something Hansol could easily do. Something he excelled in, even. Among many others, It was an idea he would mull over quite a bit on his rare lazy days — this supposedly inborn talent of his.  
  
Maybe it was because he was so driven and so passionate, that music had been so yielding to him.  
  
Love could make you see things in a positive light and feel as though you’re walking on air, Hansol had heard people say more than once. And he was more than inclined to believe such cheesy and hand-curling statements, since in his considerably short life span, he had been fortunate enough as to be able to experience that amazing feeling first-hand.  
  
Hansol truly loved music and music, in turn, gave him all the right reasons to do just that. It held this irresistible charm, that in the end led him to base the rest of his life around it.  
  
Nothing could beat the feelings a person obtained from doing what they truly love, Hansol had heard people say more than once. And he was more than inclined to believe such a statement, as he was in no way an exception to the rule.

The exhilaration that went through him from being able to bring life to his thoughts and ideas in the form of sounds, lyrics — even gestures — was simply put, worth it. Worth all the struggles and doubts he had to constantly push through to eventually reach that mind-blowing sense of fulfillment. Because truthfully, not everything went completely smooth a hundred percent of the time.

A perfect example of such case would be during his latest recording session, right before Seungcheol had called everyone for a pressing group discussion.  
  
To put it frankly, he was underperforming. Hansol, the member everyone considered best in terms of both stamina and charisma, was underperforming. It was painfully evident from the way Jihoon kept on clicking his tongue every few seconds, asking him to go from the top.  
  
“Something just isn’t clicking,” was the embittered conclusion the fidgety producer had come to, hair looking positively like a birds’ nest due to the constant abuse it had suffered from his restless hands in the long hour he was trying to direct Hansol. He had shaken his head repeatedly then, running a tired hand down his even paler than usual face, and heaving a deep, worn-out sigh.      
  
Hansol has to admit to himself that maybe he wasn’t putting his absolute everything into the recording process that evening. Not like he would have usually, at least. Perhaps it wasn’t one of his brightest ideas — not to focus on the meaning behind the lines he’d written. That is, the lines he’d written for their most recent love-themed song.  
  
Hansol doesn’t know why he had struggled so much with such a seemingly basic mission. The lyrics were… well, they were only words. Really cheesy and clichè words that didn’t carry much weight as much as they fit nicely with SEVENTEEN’s boyish image and the upbeat track Woozi and Bumzu composed. It was stupid to associate those empty words with something other than their simplistic purpose, to appeal to fans and gullible pop-consuming crowds alike.

Really, that objective should’ve been Hansol’s only concern — to appeal to the fans. The fans were always supposed to be on his mind, after all.  
  
In retrospect, maybe that very same train of thought and the untainted want to live up to expectations were what ultimately exacerbated his inability to maintain focus. Because, see, flirting and fanservice were also things which came very naturally to Hansol. Things he excelled in, even. It genuinely frustrated him that not even with an abundance of warming-up, and retry after retry after retry, he couldn’t bring himself to show off his ‘trademark cheekiness’ on full display in his work. The usual confidence he was told more times than once that he exudes in waves, became near nonexistent on that evening in the studio.  
  
It was super unlikely for something to faze Hansol to such an extent. To faze him at all, when he actually thinks about it.  
  
Hansol was a pretty chill dude, all things considered. Oblivious to ninety percent of the things around him, one might say. Yet he could still gather as much as this: clearly, something was bothering him. Something a lot more serious than the cold he was developing, or the fact his allergies were starting to act up again, or even knowing that he probably won’t get to shower for at least three more hours, at best.

Something far more serious was weighing Hansol’s heart down. Gnawing at his concentration, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and a ghostly scratch at the back of his neck — one of the places where he was the most vulnerable.

The real kicker, though, was that he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what that thing was.  
  
“Yah, Vernon-ah, could you get me some paper and something to write with so we can get this thing going?”  
  
“Huh?” Hansol blinks back to reality, mind returning from the far-away plane it has traveled to for the past few minutes. His hand slowly falls from under his chin and into his lap, as he begins to piece little details from his current situation into a more orderly picture.  
  
Shit.  
  
For how long has he been like this? Seungcheol is looking straight in his direction — obviously wanting him to do something. Everyone else is in the room, too, for some reason. Talking up a storm with each other, as per usual.     
  
Now, Hansol is often told he is easily swayed by his emotions and in-the-moment impulses, and that it shows. It shows awful noticeably. It shows in his expressive body language. It shows on his ever-changing face; by the way of his smile (or lack thereof), and his eyebrows — which tend to assume life of their own whenever something remotely reaction-worthy happens. But the thing that really sells him out and leaves his heart entirely exposed and bare for everyone else to see, is his eyes.

They always linger on things they shouldn’t.  
  
Hansol might be unaware of ninety percent of the things around him, but he sure as hell knows that he hasn’t just been ogling thin air for ten whole minutes. He must’ve been sighting something in particular. Or more precisely… someone.  
  
Fuck him. He hope he wasn't staring too much.  
  
“What do you want me to do again?” Hansol finds himself questioning aloud after regaining enough of his fleeting consciousness, casting his traitorous eyes as far away from their original target as he possibly can.  
  
“We’re gonna have a draw to decide our costumes for the fan signing. Weren’t you listening?” Soonyoung chimes in from across the conference room table Hansol just now realizes most of the members are seated at. “I suggested this totally ingenious idea to go with a fairytale concept, and everyone unanimously agreed, because regardless of whatever Mingyu and Seungkwan have to say, it is a completely fresh and innovative never-seen-before idea!”     
  
“Sorry to be the one saying it, but that’s a little too big of a stretch, hyung.”  
  
“Channie-bunny, why? Why must you always hurt me so?”  
  
“Can’t help it if you’re consistently wrong, stupid.”  
  
“Wonwoo, not you too!”  
  
Right.  
  
Okay.  
  
So Hansol’s hasn’t been that far off in his line of thinking.  
  
If his memory is to be trusted, Seungcheol had assembled everyone post individual practice in order to decide on new contents for their upcoming Halloween event, and after a lot of going back and forth about which theme they should assume, and a handful of bad puns, Jeonghan finally made the proposition to have a draw so they could stop arguing over who should play the role of the two ugly stepsisters.  
  
Good.  
  
_Good_.  
  
He did manage to get the gist of things even through that ultra weird trance of his he just had.  
  
“Alright, guys, settle down. Hansol — you’re getting me the things I asked for, right? And Minghao, give me your hat.”  
  
Upon hearing Seungcheol repeat his request, Hansol instantly gets up from the table and makes a beeline for the door with large, almost robotic-like steps. The rest of the members resume their banter as soon as he exits the conference room and walks toward one of the adjacent offices, where he knows there's plenty of stationery waiting for him to be brought back.

He is sitting closest to the entrance, after all. So it's only logical that Seungcheol would appoint him as an errand boy.  
  
Hansol reaches the corridor and pushes the first door on his right open, hand weighing the handle down with an unnecessary amount of force. It stays there for a few long moments as he attempts to constrain his swarming thoughts into a more logical and healthy course.

 _It's not like Seungcheol did that just to taunt you,_ he rationalizes. _It's not like he intentionally chose to fawn all over Seungkwan because he knows how much it would make your blood boil._  
  
_They’re always like that._  
  
Why the hell should Hansol feel so shaken by some innocent touching, anyway? He doesn't have a right to be upset. It’s Seungkwan’s body, not his. If he is willing to allow Seungcheol to latch onto him like that, then that’s his full right. Nothing he can do about it.  
  
No one should take into consideration some sore idiot’s feelings when they want to show friendly affection to someone they consider an _older brother._ That’s— That’s just being plain ridiculous!  
  
Seriously, what is wrong with him lately?  
  
In all honesty, It surprises Hansol. It surprises him that when he steps back into the conference room, it is with an obstinate sense of dread. No one seems to notice the dangerous burn he feels deep in his bones as he glances down at Seungcheol, noting how his arms haven't returned from their detour on Seungkwan's body quite yet. Everyone is talking animatedly to each other in exactly the same manner they were speaking when he left the room a few minutes before.  
  
No one seems to notice how out of place he feels.

And why should they?  
  
_This is ridiculous._

He's ridiculous. He shouldn't be feeling like this. He never had, anyway.  
  
Why now?  
  
Hansol, contrary to common belief, remembers what people tell him. So when he joins the meeting for the second time, he tries with all of his might to look away. To avert what he knows to be a forlorn gaze from where it would’ve been usually aimed at.

Maybe that’s why the pens and stacks of paper he returns with plunk on top of the table a bit too loudly for his liking, and a pencil finds its way to the floor. He thinks the others would surely stare now. But it’s only Junhui who graces him with a benign expression, and drapes a loose arm around his shoulders. He’s kinda thankful for that.  
  
“I hope I get something cool, like an evil enchanter,” Junhui says excitedly when Seungkwan starts tearing the list of fairytale characters he’s finished writing to the blessings and complaints of the other members, and continues to fold the torn scraps of paper into neat little square pieces.  
  
Minghao’s hat gets passed around, and then it’s Hansol’s turn to pick.  
  
_Sleeping beauty,_ the pretty round letters of Seungkwan’s handwriting reads.

Speaking of sleeping beauty…  
  
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna head back to the dorm now, if that’s okay.”  
  
“What? You’re kidding!” Soonyoung yawps, and swats Hansol’s arm in light of him voicing his intentions. “You have to be absolutely nuts to miss out on what your hip hyung has got planned out for tonight!”  
  
“Yeah, we’re going over to the corner store and seeing how much ramen we can fit in our mouths,” Seokmin adds to the passionate declaration jokingly, his grin bright as ever. “Gonna have us a swell ol’ time, sure you don’t wanna come?”  
  
“Nah, I’m ‘aight.”  
  
“That’s too bad,” Soonyoung mock-sighs, wiggling his eyebrows a moment later, as he leans further into Hansol. “Hyung promises he’ll buy you all the chocolates your little sugarholic heart desires.”  
  
“I’d much rather be sleeping right now, to be honest.” Hansol shrugs, and laughs, despite of himself.  
  
“Well, seeing as just three days ago I caught you head-first inside one of the refrigerators in the ice cream aisle, snoring like there was no tomorrow — yeah, I’d say it’s probably for the best if you don’t tag along for this one.”  
  
“What, seriously?” Mingyu interjects from the back of the room — at a prime time, as always. “That’s _so_ embarrassing!”  
  
“No kidding! Good thing I was there to snap him out of his paralysis, or else he probably wouldn't have any nose to speak of today. Can you Imagine what carats' reactions would’ve been like? I’ve saved you from a life devoid of all income, Vernon-ah! Where’s your gratitude?”  
  
“Okay, I see it now. Thanks a lot, hyung.” Hansol can’t help but snicker once again at Sooyoung's casual prattle. “Goodnight. Have fun at your little raid.”  
  
“Will do!”  
  
“G’night, fellow birthday boy,” Seokmin calls when Hansol’s halfway out the room — almost off into relative freedom. “I’ll save you some snacks for later!”  
  
“Thanks, man! Appreciate it.”

Hansol doesn't know why he's in such a hurry, but with each goodnight bidding he hears on his way out, his heart seems a little bit more heavy in his chest, and his throat just a tiny more stuffy. But of course he makes sure to react to everything like he usually would. 

_“Night, Vernon!”_

_“Night, Josh.”_  
  
“Goodnight, hyung. I’m gonna see how many spicy tteokbokki I can eat tonight. Minghao-hyung said that if I can manage a minimum of eight he’ll teach me some tumbling!”  
  
“Wow, serious? That’s really awesome, Channie.”

“Actually I was planning to teach him regardless, but he’s got himself so fired up for this challenge, I’d feel bad telling him otherwise. Goodnight, by the way."

  
“Ha, just makes sure he doesn’t pass out or something. Goodnight.”  
  
“Listen, Hansol, I know you’re feeling guilty for giving me a hard time today. But I mean, we both know that I would’ve stayed about the same amount of hours working, anyway. So you don’t have to. You usually do really well. One bad instance isn’t enough for me to resent you. Don’t take it to heart, and next time… let’s work harder, okay? And... make sure to sleep tight so we won’t have to deal with any delays tomorrow as well.”  
  
“Oh. Sure, hyung. I wasn’t taking it to heart. It’s just a fluke, I’ll be better off in the morning — promise. And you too, don’t stay up too late.”     
  
“Goodnight, Vernonie. Have sweet dreams.”  
  
That last voice, Hansol doesn’t bother honoring with a reply. Only after he has his blanket perfectly aligned with his armpits, and head positioned precisely in the center of his pillow just how he likes it, does it ever cross his mind that it might be the reason why his eyes keep wandering aimlessly into space.  
  
Still, he can’t say he knows that for sure.

 

 

 

 


	3. D-8

  
  
**D-8**

  
October 23rd,  3:45 AM

  
  
  
“Vernon! Psst, Vernon. Wake up! Hansol, wake up!”  
  
Something heavy and awfully persistent lands itself onto Hansol's bed. He immediately jumps awake as a result — startled by a humid and ticklish sensation lashing savagely at his forehead.  
  
Hansol's head collides with the upper bunk with an audible thud, and he curls into himself, blurriness lining the edges of his vision in dark spots.  
  
“Switch costumes with me,” is all that Jeonghan says when he finally brings his face up from his forearms, blinking himself back to consciousness.  
  
“What?” Hansol croaks out, “why?” He can feel the mattress slowly swelling up to its original form, the big dip in the centre gradually disappearing as Jeonghan backs away from his body — shuffling on his knees to sit at the side of the bed, feet now touching the floorboards.  
  
“Don't you think sleeping beauty will fit my overall character much better than the big bad wolf would?”  
  
“But Mingyu-hyung is the wolf,” Hansol mutters tiredly in the midst of a yawn, and runs a hand down his face.

  
“Yeah, well,” Jeonghan starts in a laidback tone, just loud enough to be considered more than a slumberous mumble, yet way inappropriate at the late hour they're having their discussion. “He had a sudden change of mind after we talked it over today, and being the benevolent person I am, I agreed swapping characters with him.”  
  
Hansol is pretty sure that at some point or another while Jeonghan’s been talking, he started dozing off. But it's not like he doesn't want to listen to what the other has to say. He really can't help it — his fatigued brain won't permit him to snap out of the sleepy state it's been working so diligently to get into these last few hours.  
  
“He looked pretty excited about his costume to me.” Hansol shrugs when he finally takes notice of the long silence that's been created due to his lack of alertness.  
  
“You'd think that, right? He came to a conclusion that Cinderella is someone he can really sympathise with. How exactly did he put it, again? She cleans after other people’s mess without getting a single thanks in return, and gets constantly bullied,” Jeonghan chooses to speak the last sentence in a slight lisp, thick whininess underlining his voice. “Apparently that's like, a perfect description of him.”  
  
Thinking he should probably give some sort of reaction to that, Hansol hums, and nods repeatedly to show his attentiveness. And although not quite having registered the meaning behind Jeonghan's words beyond the vague understanding it has something to do with his Halloween costume, he ends up successfully vocalizing a somewhat comprehensive response, “Umm… well, I guess if you really want to be sleeping beauty then I—”  
  
“So you agree to be the big bad wolf!” Jeonghan yanks Hansol’s feet from under his blanket, and bounces them on the mattress happily, his mouth curving into a small sly grin, which is plenty visible even without any light.  
  
“Sure? If it's so important to y—”  
  
“Great!” Jeonghan strokes Hansol's knee in final reassurance, before quickly scrambling off of the bed. "Goodnight then, Sol-ah,” is the last thing he says before leisurely making his way out of the bedroom — leaving as abruptly as he came.  
  
Hansol groans and drops back on the mattress once the room turns completely quiet.  
  
What the hell was that just now?  
  
Well, whatever. He should probably try getting a good night rest now that the other has left. Though, as he soon discovers, that task proves to be a lot more difficult than what he originally expected, and his brain stays awake for a long, long time before he can eventually force it to shut up.  
  
When Hansol is finally being pulled back into unconsciousness by the comforting embrace of sleep, the sun is already up in the sky, and the dorm starts to fill up with the noises of the early morning risers as they trudge over to the bathroom to wash the night's grime away. Just when the illusion that he’d be able to sneak in one or two additional hours of sleep if he’d make an effort to concentrate hard enough starts settling in, some unknown individual bumps into something big enough to produce a sound that has him choking on his own spit. The noise his head makes when it hits the upper bunk is nothing short of sickening.  
  
And just like that, Hansol’s wide awake. Yet again.  
  
“Urghh…”  
  
Good thing his personal schedule starts at noon, or else Pledis would most likely have to go on a statement explaining why one of the members of SEVENTEEN suddenly expired overnight.  
  
  


 


	4. D-2

**D-2**

  
October 29th, 6:00 PM  
  
  
  
  
  
There is just one hour left until the fan signing is expected to start, and Hansol is currently trying very hard not to cry his eyes out and accidentally ruin his meticulously-applied eyeliner. One of the staff who up until now has been circling the rest of the members like a crazed bee, attempts to help him insert his yellow contact lenses, that she oh-so passionately claims 'put the finishing touches to his scary wolf attire.' Which, coincidently, isn't scary at all.  
  
Hansol was told they were going for a more ‘sexy and mysterious' look, rather than a ‘vicious-meat-guzzling-beast’, and he has to admit to himself, as he examines his reflection in the brightly-lit mirror of the dressing room, that the final result turned out to be very true to that promise. In a good way — don’t get him wrong!  
  
His bangs have been swiftly brushed away from his forehead and parted mostly to one side, drawing all the attention to the dark shadows that have been created around his eyes and the glimmering gold of his irises. There is a pair of furry ink-colored ears sitting snuggly atop his head and a black wide choker positioned skewly around his neck, adding to the overall disheveled aesthetic. In addition, the two first buttons of his black shirt have been made undone, exposing his collarbones and the top of his chest, and when he opens his mouth to imitate a predatory growl, he can see two sharp canines poking out from the sides.  
  
“You look very handsome,” the lady assistant compliments him, as she tries to stifle involuntary giggles behind the back of her hand.  
  
“Thanks, noona.” Hansol smiles graciously, and lets her brush invisible dust off of his shoulders. Once she makes sure there are no longer imaginary dirt particles floating around anywhere near his clothes, she walks off to assist Junhui, who's struggling to put on his cape on the other side of the room.  
  
“Woah, you look really cool, Hansol!” Mingyu exclaims as he passes by the long line of dressing mirrors, accompanied by a very sparkly-looking Minghao, who nods in agreement and punches Hansol's shoulder to emphasize his amazement.  
  
The two of them make a pretty handsome pair, Hansol notes in astonishment. What with their elaborate and glittery costumes. They look very exquisite, if he do say so himself.  
  
Hansol almost starts to have second thoughts about the deal he has made with Jeonghan, but then he notices how Mingyu keeps pulling on the bottom of his fancy vest — which climbs up on his waist with every movement he makes. He can't help but feel a little sorry for the guy.  
  
Hansol is extremely glad that he's wearing a comfortable oversized cotton button-down and doesn't have to deal with uncooperative pieces of clothing for the rest of the evening. Well, aside from skin-tight leather pants, of course. And the choker. God, he can't forget the choker.  
  
“He may look cool but not as nearly as cool as me!” Soonyoung announces and jumps down from one of the tall stools on Hansol's right, swirling around as he approaches the rest of the group, to better showcase the long robe he's wearing. The numerous wrinkles that have been painted on his face become even more apparent when his cheeks stretch up to give way to a wide grin.  
  
“You look way cooler than me!” Hansol laughs at the sight of the gray hair-bun that’s been clipped onto the top of Soonyoung's head, and the old fashioned, flower-patterned dress he's wearing underneath his robe. Soonyoung shakes his head with a rather pleased-looking smile, then grips the shoulder of the closest person to him (Minghao in this case), and steers him in the direction of one of the far corners of the room.  
  
“You should all take a good look at DK's costume, they gave him an axe!” He points his finger to where Seokmin is standing in his full hunter-getup glory, chatting away casually with Seungkwan.  
  
”See?” Sounnyong chirps enthusiastically once everyone's attention has been drawn to the boisterous pair.  
  
Oh.  
  
Hansol is definitely seeing something, but it ain't no axe.  
  
“What? That's so not fair! How come he gets to have a weapon and we don't?”  
  
“Cinderella is supposed to be a pacifist technically, but if it bothers you that much you can always make do with one of the brooms lying around in the janitor closet.”  
  
“But what if he ends up breaking it, hyung?”  
  
"Good point. Can’t have him adding up to his already-existing debt now, can we?"  
  
“Hey, I'm not that bad!”  
  
Shit.  
  
Hansol could swear the 'stylist-noonas' are on a secret mission to see him on his early death bed. Because why in the name of all that is holy, would they let Seungkwan wear _that_ out of all things?  
  
Who even gave that outfit a green light? That person must be a major sadist!  
  
God… his shorts. Those shorts must be the tiniest shorts Hansol has ever seen on another man in all eighteen years of his life! And did they absolutely have to be so freakin’ tight?!  
  
Fuck.  
  
Who thought that pairing those strikingly red trousers with white knee-high socks is a good idea? Hansol is ought to thank them. If he can even survive the next few hours without doing something totally embarrassing that'll end his idol career for good, that is.  
  
Hansol can't lie, Seungkwan looks really nice. Like, _amazingly_ so. He has a bright-red cloak that reaches just a little over his shoulders and ties up at the front with a big, black and frilly bow (which is most likely the cutest sight Hansol has ever witnessed). His hair has been stylized into countless little Cupid-curls and is now sitting messily under his hood, giving his high cheekbones and round face a soft frame.  
  
_God, he's adorable,_ Hansol thinks, and his lungs momentarily forget how to do their job and supply the rest of his body with much needed oxygen, because the longer he lets his gaze linger the more he notices how Seungkwan's eyes are practically sparkling, and how his cheeks are tinted with the most dainty, faintest of blushes.  
  
For some inexplicable reason, that small detail manages to throw him off more than anything else. That, and the fact that Seungkwan is laughing very loudly from something Seokmin has just said...  
  
This kind of occurrence is perfectly normal (in fact, he would consider it kind of abnormal if those two weren’t joking around at least somewhat). Yet, Hansol can't help but feel a little bit sick to his stomach at the sight. And although there is no rational reasoning as to why it should be happening, his heart sinks lower and lower in his chest with every touch Seungkwan initiates with Seokmin, and every rickety, long-winded whizz that ends up escaping his mouth.  
  
Why does it hurt so badly? He shouldn’t be feeling like this. Seungkwan is overly-touchy with everyone, it isn't anything new. Especially when Seokmin is involved. So what's so different now?  
  
He doesn't understand.  
  
"Yoohoo, Vernon! Earth to Vernon?" a raspy voice calls out somewhere on Hansol's left, and his train of thought gets severed. "Is anyone there?" A hand swishes near his face, prompting him to blink a couple of times in alarm before he can bring his eyes to focus on Mingyu, whose face is invading his personal space at the moment.  
  
"What?" Hansol slurs out.  
  
"You kinda blacked out just now, are you alright?"  
  
Hansol glances up at the worried expressions of the three guys surrounding him, and then at Mingyu's hand, which is pressed firmly on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He nods once. "Just tired."  Well, to be fair, he’s only half lying.  
  
His answer rewards him with a tight purse of the lips from Soonyoung, and a dubiously-raised eyebrow from Minghao. But luckily, he doesn't have to provide any further explanation, because before anyone can ask him any more questions, a female staff — different from the one who previously helped him — walks up to them, and requests all the other members to leave so she can do some final touch-ups on his makeup. No one dares to argue with her. They quickly scramble to get away from the dressing area and out to the hallway, leaving her to do her job.  
  
“How do you kids always manage to mess up your makeup minutes after I apply it, huh?” She asks with a deep sigh, and pulls out a fluffy brush from the small ‘tool pouch’ that hangs around her hips. Hansol simply shrugs and turns around in his seat to face the mirror, muttering a small, “sorry” under his breath. The woman just sighs again, and rummages through the countless makeup products inside the huge bag she has just set on the counter with an audible grunt.  
  
“Hold on for a second, I've run out of this specific shade,” she says after examining an eye shadow pallet she rescues from deep within her monstrous bag. She goes around the room, asking the other makeup artists for the wanted product — leaving Hansol to his own devices in the meantime.  
  
Hansol takes a careful look at his reflection. He doesn't see anything that requires immediate fixing, but then again, he's in no way a makeup professional, so he just accepts his fate for now. He finds himself fiddling with his thumbs as he patiently waits for the woman to return; until something in the mirror catches his eye, and the careless movements of his hands stop at once.  
  
It's Seungkwan. He's leaning against the wall opposite to the line of mirrors, playing with the ruffles of his costume and staring off into space. He's also completely alone.  
  
Seungkwan tilts his head to the side and as a result, their eyes meet in the mirror. Hansol stares for what seems like ages, unblinking. Then, Seungkwan does something that causes his whole body to freeze — he smiles at him. That bright barely-even-there smile that manages to color his entire face in warm hues.  
  
Hansol swears his heart is going to leap out of his throat at any given moment. He averts his eyes almost too fast, opting to stare at his folded hands on top of the vanity counter instead of letting Seungkwan's gentle gaze dig deeper holes into his chest.  
  
He can't handle it, not right now.  
  
“Okay, I got it. I had to do a great deal of bargaining before I could get my hands on this little pest, but I eventually got it!” A female voice calls above Hansol's head and the makeup artist from earlier falls into his line of vision all too suddenly. “Now, please lift your chin up for me, Hansol-ah.” She dips a brush into her newly acquired eye shadow, and taps it repeatedly against her wrist to get rid of the excess powder.  
  
Hansol follows her instructions and adjusts his head, but when his eyes realign with the shiny surface of the mirror, they can't seem to find a certain boy.  
  
The boy that has been smiling at him just a mere few seconds ago.

 

 **7:00 PM**  
  
  
  
Hansol does his best not to let his mixed emotions show on his face as the compact indoor venue starts to fill up with swarms of excited fans. Wonwoo and Seokmin come to stand at either of his sides when all the members move in front of the long table at the back of the room, and for now, it's just enough to keep his smile in place. Although when Seokmin leans in to whisper a dumb joke in his ear right before their group greeting, his hands automatically clench into fists, which results in him fucking up the timing. He really wishes it wasn't the case, though, because Seokmin is a great friend and he doesn't want to dislike him. Besides, he doesn't have a reason to.  
  
Five more minutes pass by as everyone in the crowd busy themselves with setting up their cameras. Either way, Seokmin doesn't seem to notice the divergence in Hansol's attitude toward him, and keeps on trying to make light conversation while the event takes off; so Hansol responds as normally as he can. As normally as he can when Seungkwan's voice bounces from every corner of the hall and pierces straight through his chest.  
  
Shame on him, really.  
  
How could he possibly forget that his best friend is probably the most talkative and outgoing person to ever grace the earth, and won't ever pass down an opportunity to be at the center of attention?  
  
Having that refound knowledge rooted deep in his awareness, Hansol just narrowly manages to get through the other next five minutes of the fan signing without having the violent urge to punch the nearest wall. Though, in the end he does find himself enjoying the usual squabbling between the rest of the members quite a bit, as they take on the job of entertaining the bigger bulk of awaiting fans.  
  
Both of them being on the quieter side, Hansol excuses himself from the general rowdiness of his teammates, and tunes in attentively each time Wonwoo nudges him with his elbow to occasionally comment on one thing or the other. Then, someone in the front row asks if she may take some photos of ‘the mighty dragon’, Dino, pretending to breath fire towards the crowd, and of course, he complies to her wish with the utmost willingness.  
  
Not before long and all the members are given similar requests and come up to the front to pose according to the fans’ suggestions.

Wonwoo and Junhui finish their turn on a high note, with one of them comically sprawled on the stage’s floor, pretending to be zapped by a beam of energy from the other’s staff, their actions provoking bouts of laughter from everyone in the crowd.  
  
It shouldn't come as a surprise to Hansol when Seungkwan's name is being called right after his, but his heart rate peaks like he's just finished running a marathon and his lungs do that extremely unpleasant thing when he’s nervous, and contrast painfully behind his ribs. He’s left no other option but to revisit his troublesome thoughts, and so out of a defensive instinct his bones transform into lead — just in time for him to be meant to be moving his legs and walk.  
  
_Great..._  
  
Somewhere at the back of his brain, Hansol comes to the foggy realization that he's been experiencing a lot of breathing difficulties these past few weeks. And maybe — just maybe — he should listen to his body as it keeps screaming at him to run as far as he can at the sight of a smiling Boo Seungkwan, skipping to stand right beside him on stage.  
  
It starts innocently enough, with simple requests such as: “Make a heart with your arms” and, “Do a flower pose” or, “Hit him over the head with your basket, Seungkwan-oppa!” Hansol does everything with mechanical proficiency, ignoring his annoying brain which is working thousand miles per hour trying to make sense of the sudden shakiness in his knees. Until he hears a new command being shouted at the top of someone's lungs, and feels how immediately after, the hand that's been comfortably placed on his shoulder suddenly flinches — even if just for a split second. He can't help but flinch a little himself.  
  
“Bite his neck, Hansol-ah!”  
  
“Yes, that'd be perfect!”  
  
“Oh my god, please do that!”  
  
Evidently, Hansol has done much worse in the past, so he can't really act too bashful now. There is permanent evidence of him smacking Seungkwan's ass all over the internet, for fuck's sake. So what's the big deal in hovering his head over Seungkwan’s neck for a few measly seconds so their fans could snap some nice pictures of them to post on their sites?  
  
Hansol peers at Seungkwan from the corners of his eyes. _It's only a stupid five-inches gap,_ he repeats to himself like a mantra. They've been much closer to each other before. So close, in fact, that Hansol can easily find every single one of Seungkwan's moles without even having to look.  
  
“Put your heart into it, Vernon-ah!” Jeonghan calls excitedly from somewhere behind Hansol, snapping him out of his daze and eliciting a loud roar of squeals from the crowd. Maybe — on any other day — Hansol would've turned to give Jeonghan an incredulous look and laugh at his abrasiveness, but right now, he feels as though his head might as well rip off his body if he did do such a thing. And so, he begrudgingly gulps down his pride, and grits his teeth in a poor attempt not to vomit all of his stomach's contents as he finally brings himself to lock eyes with Seungkwan's warm russet-toned ones.  
  
_It's for the fans._  
  
Hansol's body moves on its own accord, left hand gripping Seungkwan's shoulder with enough urgency to make the other's eyes shift rapidly upwards, the new direction making them catch the bright radiance from the light fixtures on the ceiling. He hooks his right pointer finger in one of the loops of Seungkwan's bow, and lets it slowly pull down, unraveling the silky black knot little by little with the help of his thumb. The swish of the fabric as it comes unloose ripples through the air and all of a sudden, the atmosphere feels much too hot for Hansol. Much too intimate, and way too fucking dangerous.  
  
Seungkwan's curls bounce untamed when his poofy, scarlet hood slides down his head by the slight push of Hansol's hand; it comes up from the older's chest to brush his cheek, but only for a second and then it's quickly gone and Hansol's shaky breath is there to replace it.  
  
Hansol can't hear the deafening clicks of camera shutters beyond the constant pump of blood in his ears, and the little changes in Seungkwan's breath. He brings his mouth just an inch away from the other's skin, stretching it big and wide to make sure his fake canines are prominently visible to the imposing flash of lights enclosing the two of them.  
  
They stay in this position for what seems like eternity, but in reality probably only lasts up to a minute. It's just enough time to send Hansol's heart spiraling out of control, causing every last vein in his body to thump together in a mad ensemble of nerves. He suddenly has a very strong crave to bite down, pierce through the soft fawn skin of Seungkwan's neck, and make it flush a pretty pink color just like his cheeks.  
  
No.  
  
No, he wants to mark it red. Red like his cloak and those damned, stupid shorts. Red as in blood, red as in claim, red as in better than Seokmin, better than Seungcheol.  
  
Better than anyone else.  
  
"C'mon you two, I think that's more than enough for now," a voice calls out, anchoring Hansol’s sizzling thoughts back to reality. It is the same nasally voice that has pushed him to take action in the first place, he realizes halfway toward his original spot between ever-grinning Seokmin and a smirking, cackling Wonwoo.  
  
What the hell was he thinking just now? He can’t believe his own damn mind. These feelings can’t be healthy — no, they're absolutely not, they're fucked up, that’s what they are. From beginning to end, fucked up!  
  
He can't just claim a person, especially not away from his friends , which the both of them fucking share, on top of that. That’d be really damn hypocritical, other than simply sickening.  
  
This is wrong — this is so fucking wrong — and Hansol feels like the biggest piece of shit in the all of existence for even letting this selfish yearning skim his thoughts.  
  
In a moment of immense doubt he can’t bring himself to ignore, Hansol dares to break out of his head and search in his gaze for Seungkwan. See if he’s okay, if he could sense the negativity and possessiveness radiating from him so unbearably just seconds before; get a clue of his feelings, check if he's indeed disgusted by it all like how Hansol is, and how he feels Seungkwan should be, too.  
  
Seungkwan’s laughter and light-hearted retorts to the teasing members reach his ears way before Hansol’s eyes successfully zoom in on his figure. It’s not enough of an indication to set the confusion in his brain straight; that’s what Seungkwan always does, he laughs.  
  
He laughs when he’s happy, and when he’s embarrassed. He laughs when he’s agitated because of a new song release, and when he’s nervous right before going onstage to perform a particularly difficult ballade. He laughs when he’s on the verge of an emotional melt-down, or when he’s about to explode in a huge fiery fit because of the unfair treatment the people around him are forced to endure.  
  
Seungkwan even laughs when he’s sad, he laughs and smiles until he can’t anymore. Then he cries. And once Seungkwan cries — _really_ cries — it takes a hell lot of time until he can start laughing again. Really laugh.  
  
Hansol was never good at handling a crying Boo Seungkwan, he never has the right words. He usually just holds him close in a bone-crushing hug and lets him cry his little far too sensitive heart out. Their limbs in an awkward, tangled, comforting mess, until Hansol makes sure the tremors of Seungkwan’s body start to steadily diminish, and his rapidly beating chest begins matching his own.  
  
Always, like a ritual: Hansol’s fingers would comb soothingly through disheveled hair, and tap-tap a constant gentle rhythm up and down Seungkwan’s spine, until his heart-wrenching sobs get swallowed in the fabric of Hansol’s shirt and turn into tiny hiccups instead, the entire front of the garment then covered in snot.

Normally then, Hansol would continue embracing Seungkwan tightly against his body and won’t say anything. Try hard not to say anything dumb that might bring about a new influx of tears.  
  
But he doesn’t want to think about any of that right now. He doesn’t want to think about Seungkwan at all. The ones he should be thinking of are the fans, his personal fans. The fans who are girls.

Girls like every single love interest you see in movies and dramas, girls as in the subject of many, many interview questions.  
  
Girls like the ones in all of their songs.  
  
Hansol likes girls, he always has. That's why, when all of the members are gathered up by the end of the day, waiting for one of the managers to announce their departure, and Soonyoung sets his sights on teasing the maknae as much as humanly possible with the help of playful inquiries, such as what actress or female idol he has taken a liking to lately, Hansol decides to step up and give his own two cents on the matter.

He speaks in a loud and clear voice, enough for everyone else in the waiting room to hear, “You know who's real pretty? TWICE’s Dahyun. We met a few times and she's totally my style, I'd date her.”  
  
“Huh? What's that all of a sudden? I thought you didn't have an ideal type,” Mingyu points out right away, detaching his eyes from his phone screen long enough to examine Hansol with a screwed up expression.  
  
“Well, I don’t.” Hansol shifts a little atop the couch’s cushions, the one a sleepy Jeonghan and Jihoon are currently cuddling on next to him. “It's just that I think she's really nice-looking, and also has a nice personality. You're acting like it's the first time you hear me say something like that.”  
  
“It might as well be.”  
  
Mingyu’s attention is back on his phone as soon as he utters his assessment, and Hansol thinks it’s safe to assume he won’t be looking up from it anytime soon. He also thinks he’s about to hurl all over himself, Jeonghan and Jihoon if he doesn't do something about it in the following five seconds, so he briskly abandons his position on the tiny lounge sofa and rushes out to the hallway.  
  
Apparently, the universe has a knack of making Hansol’s life exceptionally complicated for him, because just when he’s about to escape into the bathroom and thoroughly cleanse the jumbled ruins of his vital organs into the most convenient sink, the door swings open and Seungkwan steps out.

Hansol almost topples straight to the ground, his anxiety instantly shooting up his throat, nearly foaming at his mouth. He begins speaking in tongues even before the other can get a single word out, “Sorry, can't talk, not, uh, not feeling too well. So I, uh, I have to— bye. I mean, see ya’, bye.” Next thing he knows, his legs carry him in the complete opposite direction of the bathroom, to the smallest unsuspicious location he can potentially find refuge in.  
  
Hansol shuts the door of what he barely distinguishes as some kind of storage space, shakily supporting himself against a shelf of cleaning products that sits at the farmost corner from the entrance. His head is spinning, his vision darkening at the edges, and everything else is reeling in and out of place. The world is upside down and inside out, and in increasingly crumbling shambles, the flakey walls that seem to be closing on him after each ragged breath he forces into his lungs dancing and wobbling accordingly — a soup of contaminated white plaster sharply advancing up his retinas, almost staining the very tips of his eyelashes.  
  
He’s going to die.  
  
He’s going to fucking die and it’s going to be all his fucking fault. Because if his stupid brain didn’t insist on blowing everything out of proportions and seeing signs where there were none, and if his bastard of a heart didn’t jump at the slightest of gestures, and made him feel so helpless, then he wouldn't be here in the first place.  
  
He would never have to experience this blasted pain ever again if the both of them weren't so inherently fucking active, working overtime even when he wanted nothing else than for them to stop altogether.    
  
Wasn’t he in charge of his own emotions? His thoughts? Is he so fucking weak that abstract concepts his own damn mind conceived can take over so easily, control what he can and cannot do and what people he should or shouldn't talk to?  
  
Hansol navigates his blurring vision to a single peeling spot on the wall, counting two in his head in between each pair of inhale and exhale rattling his body.  
  
1, 2  
  
Inhale.  
  
1, 2  
  
Exhale.  
  
1, 2  
  
Inhale.  
  
1, 2  
  
Exhale.  
  
1, 2, 3  
  
Inhale.  
  
1, 2, 3  
  
Exhale.  
  
1, 2 ,3, 4  
  
Inhale  
  
1, 2, 3, 4...  
  
“Vernon?”  
  
1, 2  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“What are you doing here, man?” The door of the janitor closet creaks ajar, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway that illuminates the side of Minghao’s face. ”I was looking for you. Coups-hyung told me to get you, it's time to leave.”  
  
“Oh, right,” Hansol breathes out, jittery palms pawing the very-much-solid walls at his sides as he contemplates getting up from the, surprisingly enough, cold stable floor. “I just, uh, I needed to have some time alone.”  
  
Minghao breezes inside the room before Hansol can conform to the strange heaviness of his step, his eyebrows arching up in disbelief. “And you chose to have it here?”  
  
“You know how it is, dude, when you’re that tired you look for the nearest quiet place to crash out.”  
  
“I guess,” Minghao concedes absentmindedly, slinging his arms around as he closely surveys their surroundings, eventually tying them up in a severe knot at his midsection. “Are you sure you're fine? Those things look like they would hurt leaning on.” He juts one of his thumbs at a dirty mop that's pressing into Hansol’s side. It does hurt.  
  
“Yeah, everything's fine. Like I said, I was feeling a bit tired and the noise in the waiting room was a little too much. I could care less about my future back problems, really,” Hansol assures while nodding his head vigorously, and squeezes out a feeble laugh. He takes comfort in the fact that while that statement is partially a very big and ugly lie, it is also sort of true. Which ultimately means that it's just a fraction bad, not entirely horrible like the annoying twists in his stomach keep on insisting it is.  
  
Everything’s completely fine.  
  
Hansol will be fine, he’s confident in that. He’ll get over whatever it is that he’s been experiencing soon enough and then, surely, they will be fine.  
  
They have to be, right?

 

 **9:51 PM**  
  
  
  
The ride back to the dorms is almost entirely silent, but Hansol finds himself not minding the unusual quiet when all he wants to do is bury himself in the warm sheets of his bed and never see the light of day ever again. He lets his head fall against Seungcheol's sturdy shoulder when they shuffle to get themselves comfortable in the backseat of one of the vans, his body slacking onto the upholstery in exhaustion.  
  
“Don't smear your makeup all over me,” Seungcheol warns as he runs his hand through Hansol's hair, taking off the fake wolf ears and placing them in his lap with extreme care.  
  
“No promises.” Hansol nuzzles his face further against Seungcheol. He is tired. Tired from an endless day of activities, tired of guessing the meaning of things he felt coil deep in his chest, burning up a storm inside, maliciously and without warning.  
  
Hansol is so tired of feeling nearly neurotic but not knowing why.  
  
_It's alright,_ he tries to reassure himself, the sweet temptation of rest poking at his heavy eyelids at the faint sound of Junhui's cheerful humming that dribbles through the front seats. _You have time, you don't have to push for an answer right away._ His breathing gradually slows down, chest following right after. Seungcheol's head comes to rest gently on top of his own.  
  
Hansol has plenty of time, he'll come to understand everything eventually. He needs to stop worrying so much; nothing is going to change if he'd allow himself to draw his conclusions in a more relaxed pace. There was no rush, right? Seungkwan was still plain old Seungkwan whichever way he looked at him, he wasn't going away anytime soon.  
  
Hansol closes his eyes for the rest of the journey back home with a determined intent of turning his senses off, yet strangely enough, he can feel every bump and dip in the road.  
  
~  
  
The van rolls into an all-too familiar street and Hansol has yet to fall asleep. Junhui whirls around when the wheels screech to a full stop in front of the dorm building, and taps Hansol's shoulder lightly, whispering that he had better hurry up if he doesn't want to be the last one in line for the shower.  
  
“We already arrived? Man, I could've definitely used a few more minutes.” Seungcheol yawns and stretches his arms out. He spends a few good seconds trying to shake off the specks of stagnancy that are seemingly still lingering in his body, before opening the car door on his right and quickly stepping out, hands shooting straight into the pockets of his padded jacket.  
  
“C'mon, kiddo, if you'd stay here any longer your ass ‘gonna lose its shape!” Seungcheol slams his palm on the side of the van and ushers Hansol to do as he says with a tilt of his chin. “You too, Wonwoo. I'll feel very sorry if that indeed happens to you, seeing as you don't have an ass.”  
  
Hansol exits the van with slight grogginess to his step, emitting a low groan that rumbles from deep within his chest when he's met with the sharp chilliness of October. His body jolts wide awake as the harsh night air pierces under his thin shirt and causes countless goose bumps to pop up on his skin. He already can't wait to be inside.  
  
The members emerge from inside the cars one by one, some dragging their feet, some moving sporadically in place to fend from the cold — each with his own ritual. Soonyoung, for example, is currently jumping up and down like a hyperactive bunny and furiously rubbing his hands together. “Yo! Big bad wolf!” he shouts the moment he sees that all the passengers of van number two (the car Hansol rode in) have successfully evacuated their vehicle.  
  
Soonyoung jogs over to their little group and wastes no time in wrapping his arm around Hansol's shoulders, lurching forward, and almost sending the both of them face-planting into the frost-covered ground.

“I must say, you were incredibly sexy today, you should dress up as a furry more often!”  
  
“Funny, I’d say the same thing about you,” Wonwoo says, and tugs Soonyoung into a firm headlock. “For once, I’m too fixed on your clothes to pay any attention to your face, and if you ask me — and you do — that’s a great service to mankind, right there.”  
  
“You’re gonna regret this, Jeon Wonwoo, hereby I swear!”  
  
“Ooh, what are you going to do? Throw your SHINee lightstick at me?”  
  
Wonwoo loosens his chokehold on Soonyoung, creating a breach in his defence that allows for the victim to take a shot at hitting him, but then Soonyoung’s eyes follow Wonwoo’s to a spot behind Hansol, and he abandons the idea almost instantly. They exchange knowing looks, lips quirked up in identical smirks, then Wonwoo nudges Soonyoung forward with his elbow.  
  
“Have fun, kids.” Soonyoung swipes the band of wolf ears from Hansol’s grasp and places it on top of his head, sleeking back any unruly hair strands. “Don’t do anything too wild, though.”  
  
_Kids?_ Hansol is a second away from asking what he means by that, but then he feels something pull at the hem of his shirt, and Wonwoo and Soonyoung slip through the front doors of the apartment complex before he can voice his wish to join them. He reluctantly turns around, sudden waves of nausea licking at the sides of his stomach as a sickeningly sweet scent fills up his nostrils.  
  
“Don't go just yet, stay with me,” Seungkwan says when Hansol gathers enough courage to look at him. Once he does, though, he can't look away.  
  
“Okay…”  
  
~  
  
Seungkwan leads Hansol through a dark passageway near the side of the building, careful as to not get caught by anyone. Then after making sure none of the managers have followed them, they take a familiar path down a few short streets to a modest-sized playground surrounded by a circle of lamps, and flop down on a creaking bench that sits near the muddy sandbox. A stray cat sticks its head out from a nearby bush, and Seungkwan calls for it, patting his lap invitingly and making soft kissy noises. The stray sniffs the air suspiciously as it pads toward Seungkwan with calculated steps, but eventually dims him decent enough, and jumps into his arms.    
  
“So you’re going to be like that, huh?” Seungkwan pouts and cradles his left hand once the cat scratches him and vaults back to the bushes due to an unsatisfactory ear-rub.  
  
“So... what is it?” Hansol finally asks. Seungkwan snaps his head in his direction, and studies him for a long ten seconds, eyebrows raised.  
  
“What did you wanna talk about that was so important?” Hansol clarifies in a dry tone, much like the insides of his mouth.  
  
“Nothing, I— ”Seungkwan grips his knees tightly and presses them together, huge eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “Isn't the weather nice?”  
  
Seungkwan absolutely hates the cold. He always steals the blankets over to his side of the bed during the night. And by always, it truly does mean always. Winter, summer, Hansol’s birthday — there are no exceptions.  
  
“It's good to breathe some fresh air once in a while.” Seungkwan sniffles, making it almost impossible for Hansol not to take notice of the rosy patches magnificently blooming all over the bare expense of his skin.

The slight shakiness of his thighs which seems to worsen with every passing second, his exposed arms hugging the sides of his torso; everything about how he looks at the moment gives the impression that he’s just a second away from curling into himself, eventually becoming a tiny ball of scarlet cloth and tawny, tremulous limbs.  
  
Hansol is suddenly very fascinated by the grass that grows between the cracks of the pavement beneath his frigid feet. If only he had taken his coat with him when he still had the chance… he wishes he could bring himself to close the gap between the two of them and generate some warmth back to Seungkwan's body.  
  
Hansol's hand starts moving laggardly across the bench, fingers gingerly parting to accommodate something else between them: a familiar, comforting hotness. A second later, Seungkwan pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulders, and Hansol's arm immediately returns, erroneously stiff, to his side.  
  
“Nice outfit, by the way.” Seungkwan smirks and his shiny, red nose scrunches up in amusement.  
  
“Yeah, you too,” Hansol coughs up into his numbed palm, feeling the telltales of a blush creeping up on his cheeks. “I mean, your outfit — it really suits you,” he adds quickly, unsure as to why. “Not that you yourself don't look nice, because you do. You look great! Seriously great.”  
  
That's it, Hansol can just go and throw himself off the nearest bridge. He glances at Seungkwan anxiously from the corners of his eyes, ready for the appalled scowl that would surely make its way to the other's face. Though, of course, it doesn’t come. Seungkwan never shows real signs of deprecation with him.  
  
Meanwhile, between Hansol’s spontaneous confession and him being lost in his own head, Seungkwan bites his lower lip and covers his mouth with a quivering hand, and then, something marvelous happens. His face suddenly brightens up. Beautifully, as if God himself chose to hang little stars in his eyes.  
  
Hansol's breath catches in his throat when Seungkwan breaks into uncontrollable laughter, and slides across the bench to give his arm an affectionate shove.

“C'mon, walk with me,” the older boy manages to say between snorts. “I feel like my toes are going to fall off if I don't move soon.”  
  
~  
  
They stroll along a dimly-lit street, Hansol's feet falling into a fixed pace a few short steps behind Seungkwan's. The wind picks up and the treetops swish violently above their heads when they pass by, causing Hansol's teeth to stutter. His chapped lips, which so far have given his mouth a nice pink frame, slowly transform into an unsightly shade of blue (a picture that perfectly exemplifies his growing risk of hypothermia).  
  
The bushes kissing the sidewalk of which the two of them find themselves wandering onto rustle uproariously, and dry leaves fly everywhere, sticking to light posts and walls of dark brick buildings that are bunched together in a seemingly ever-lasting slope along the sides of the road. But even then, with the roaring wind in his ears, the sound of speeding cars zooming past in the distant fast-lane, and the crisp jingle of autumn fallout clamping around his body from all directions, Hansol can still hear Seungkwan's rambling loud and clear. Just as if he were walking right beside him.  
  
Sometimes, Hansol can't help but cancel everything else around him and tune in to Seungkwan's voice. It’s an old habit he hasn’t quite grown out of yet, he presumes.  
  
With each languid step they take up the slope, more excited descriptions spill out into the night air, turning into swirly trails of white smoke as soon as they come in contact with the outside world. Hansol feels as though his ribs are going to shatter at any moment if he doesn't do something about the vicious hammering of his heart. His eyes, which up until now have been ardently planted at his shoes, come to lay on Seungkwan's form. Once they do, though, he can't prevent himself from staring.  
  
Somehow, Hansol has managed to forget about what Seungkwan is wearing. But now — oh, now — he's completely positive he could never erase the memory of the divine image he's seeing right before him.  
  
And what a wonderful sight Seungkwan is, with his dangerously short, form-fitting slacks (which do an amazing job in highlighting every single one of his curves and muscles in the most delightful way imaginable). The white socks he's got on are a great contrast to his soft caramel thighs and the fact that they end just a little below the knees, makes Hansol itchy in a very immoral sense of the word. He feels like a huge bastard for thinking about how absolutely delectable Seungkwan's legs look when it's so cold outside and he's most likely freezing his ass off dressed in such scanty clothing.  
  
Hansol doesn't dwell on this thought for too long, though, because the daunting guilt that squeezes its way to make a nest in his stomach is quickly replaced by something else: a blunt, cold sensation that swats him square in the face, knocking his entire body backwards, and turning his vision red with something that is — unfortunately — entirely different from Seungkwan's outrageously tight booty-shorts. He's almost sure he's bleeding. No, scratch that — he is bleeding. Not a whole lot, but the fact that there's indeed blood coming out of his body is enough to warrant a small amount of concern.  
  
_Shit._ Hansol rubs the newly throbbing spot that sits just between his knitted eyebrows. He should really stop doing this to his forehead...  
  
“Oh my god, are you okay?” a panicked voice calls beyond the thin layer of haziness that clogs Hansol's brain.  
  
“Y-Yeah, I was just… distracted…” He slowly stands up from where his ass has just landed onto the ground, trying to make the fogginess in his head go away by blinking and pressing light circles into his temples.  
  
Before he can even begin to register anything, the first definitive thing Hansol knows is that Seungkwan's surprisingly warm hands are on him, caressing every inch of his face with frantic motions, bordering on the line of madness.  
  
Hansol winces when gentle fingers move up his face to trace the outline of his bruise.  
  
“Daydreaming again?” Seungkwan sighs, eyebrows furrowing deeply atop rapidly shifting eyes. “Tch, you're always tripping over your own feet! I'm surprised you aren't dead in a ditch somewhere by now.” His tone is that of a parent scolding their disobedient child, his hands the same careful touch which goal is to sooth and calm rather than reprimand. This correlation doesn't do too brilliantly in helping Hansol's condition. In fact, the pounding of his head only seems to be amplified ten times fold when Seungkwan continues on with his little rant;  
  
“Seriously, you're so clumsy, I dread to imagine how you would end up without me and the other guys by your side.”  
  
A new rush of pain suddenly surges through Hansol, but not the physical kind. It's a type of an uncannily familiar burn which simultaneously feels completely different from what he's ever felt before. Definitely one of the worst kinds of pain he has ever had the chance of experiencing.  
  
_Dammit,_ is all Hansol can think at the moment. More than the dull ache that's continuously seeping into his face, and more than the sharp sting eating away at his scraped knees, the soreness of his heart is what hurts him the most. And it's not just his heart. Hansol's entire chest clenches frighteningly; with enough force that makes him entirely certain his bones would ultimately fracture.  
  
It hurts really badly. It hurts _extremely_ badly, and he needs to put an end to this torturous feeling right this instance, before he implodes!  
  
“Stop.” Hansol lays a cold hand on top of Seungkwan's hot one, steadily removing it from where it's been sketching small feathery shapes on his cheek. The older's eyes turn round and glossy, and he sniffs, his whole face colored in an unnatural shade of pink. “Why? Does it hurt that badly? It doesn't look so severe. Should I call someone? Should we go back to th—”  
  
“Stop babying me.” Hansol presses his lips into a harsh line, the skin around his knuckles stretching taut as he clenches his hands into fists by his sides.  
  
Seungkwan clicks his mouth shut. “What do you mean?” he asks stiffly after a moment, and Hansol curses under his breath, because he can't believe what he's hearing.  
  
How can he _not_ know what he means?!  
  
“Stop treating me like a helpless child or a cute little puppy, I'm not.” Hansol finds himself biting back screams as he plants his heels into the ground, his whole body winding up in frustration. Right then, when he thinks that that's it, there's no turning back, he has finally said what he had wanted to say for so long, and now the other boy would have to hear him out, would have to give him something — anything — he could work out a sensible answer from, just then, Seungkwan chuckles. Out of all things, he chooses to chuckle.  
  
He has the nerve to fucking _chuckle._  
  
“Could've fooled me.” Long, delicate fingers rake through Hansol’s mussed-up hair to stroke an ink-colored band of furry ears. He desperately wants to object and move away from the overly gentle touch, but some of the fury he's felt just a few seconds before curiously dimms out, and he loses the power to act upon it.  
  
In that moment, Chwe Hansol despises the fact that the sound of Boo Seungkwan's laughter can make him so damn weak.  
  
“Those are wolf ears! C'mon, that's obvious — you're little red riding hood!” Hansol sputters after regaining some of his prickling sense of irritation, due to Seungkwan’s touch no longer being on him. “Well, some version of little red riding hood…” His cheeks heat up under his eyelashes, and he averts his gaze back at his shoes all-too-quickly.  
  
“Excuse you? What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“It means that I'm trying really hard not to stare but you've been walking in front of me in those shorts for the last five minutes, and I almost lost consciousness banging my head on that light post just now and it definitely wasn't because I forgot to tie my fucking shoelaces — not this time!”  
  
Now Hansol has officially done it. He just went and self-handedly dug himself a hole as deep as the ocean floor, and then proceeded to shoot himself in both legs; so even if he did manage to find some way out by some miraculous, wild chance, there was no way he'd ever be in the right physical condition to attempt an escape.  
  
“I can't believe it, you weren't listening to anything I've just said!”  
  
“Wait, what?” Hansol blinks. “Of course I was.”  
  
“Yeah? What was I talking about then?”  
  
“Oh, that?” Hansol scratches the back of his head. “I— you were telling me that really funny joke Seokmin-hyung made earlier. Yeah… yeah. I'm right, right?”  
  
“Gosh, you're unbelievable,” Seungkwan says, rolling his eyes. “But then again,” he makes a pause in his speech to heave a meaningful sigh, “I guess I shouldn't expect too much from someone who has the attention span of a five-year-old”.  
  
Oh, fuck no. Hansol’s had enough of that shit.  
  
He’s had enough of Seungkwan always making it out to be like he’s some mentally-challenged toddler!  
  
“Stop saying these stuff!” Hansol growls, and Seungkwan stumbles backwards when he proceeds to hotly lean into him, jaw set, eyes blazing. “I'm a _man_ now, not the little kid I was four years ago! Why can't you see that, Seungkwan? I don't need your protection!”  
  
“Hansolie, please, you’re scaring me,” Seungkwan whispers, his now-timid eyes cast down at his trembling hands.  
  
“What? How am I scary?” Hansol laughs out maniacally, clenched fists moving up from his sides to grip Seungkwan’s shoulders. “Does the truth scare you, Seungkwan? Reality is too hard for you to handle? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to repeat it how many damn times’ necessary for you to get it through your thick little head!” With every snarled out word, Hansol pushes Seungkwam further backwards — hold tight enough to turn his knuckles an extremely angry white — until the smaller’s back meets the light post he’s knocked his head on not too long before.

“Let me say it again: I'm an adult — a **_man_ ** — so you should start treating me like one!"  
  
“You think I don't already know that, you fucking idiot!?” Seungkwan screams, and shoves Hansol’s chest off with both of his open palms, and this time, Hansol’s the one who ends up stumbling and falling onto the ground, the momentum causing his big bad wolf ears to fly off his head and land at his feet with a crackle.

“You think I'm blind!? Or maybe dumb?! You think I wouldn't notice that you don't look at me in the eyes anymore?! That you rather play games on your phone on your free time than talk like we used to?! That you don't sleep with me in the same bed, and don't let me touch you?!” Seungkwan struggles to balance himself, knees nearly buckling beneath the weight of his wavering body, breath coming out rapid and shallow, and voice progressively changing from loud and heated to small and frail, “You think I can't tell that you’ve been trying to avoid me for a very long time now? Give me a fucking break, Hansol, these past few days I haven't even heard one measly 'good morning' from you. You don't need me, I embarrass you — this is what you want to say, don't you?!”  
  
Immediately after the accusations leave him, Seungkwan shakes his head furiously, and toys with the ring on his right hand as if to smother his bubbling emotion, a good many pants slipping through his gaping mouth in the meanwhile. He looks down at Hansol, smiling at him wryly, his eyes glistening, full to the brim with something that the younger can only describe as pity.  
  
“I know you’ve matured, I know you’re not an insecure child who needs my constant support anymore. I know you much prefer hanging out with other people now that you’ve finally grown into yourself and started realizing that you’re in fact a valuable, kind human being with compelling thoughts, and that you look damn good and anyone with a right mind would want you as their friend.” Seungkwan stops to sigh for the umpteenth time in the span of ten minutes. “It’s good to make friends, Hansol-ah I’m glad you’re breaking out of your comfort zone, I mean,” he laughs curtly, the humor never once reaching his pity-filled eyes, “You used to be so shy and just look at you now, you flirt with practically anyone and anything that bumps into you on the street. I just wish for when you decide to broaden your social circle, you’d know that you don’t necessarily have to neglect your original frien—”  
  
“Do you listen to the things you say sometimes, or do you just enjoy hearing yourself talk?” Hansol bites out bitterly before Seungkwan can finish his sentence. “I flirt with everyone that bumps into me?” He pulls himself up from the cold pavement, stomping his feet once he straightens his body fully, the veins on his neck pronounced now more than ever.

“Should I remind you, out of the entire group — all thirteen fucking members of us — you’re the one who gets the most variety guest invitations and gig offers? You’re the one who has more than three hundred contacts on their phone _—_ more than half of them which are girls! You’re the one who goes out every other day to meet some random fucking douchebag I don’t even know the fucking name of! I’m not the only one who’s changed, Seungkwan!” Hansol cries out in a broken tone. By this point, two of his hands are threading exasperatedly through his hair, the words his lips produce composed of barks and howls, rather than consonants and vowels. “Since our debut, it feels like I barely ever get to see you. Could you really blame me if I eventually got sick of it all?! If anything, it’s all _your_ fault!”  
  
To say Hansol regrets ever being born would be a huge fucking understatement, because just as he lets those last words out, he swears he can see something shatter behind Seungkwan’s eyes.  
  
“You know what?” Seungkwan says eerily calm after a gravely long silence, and directs a blank stare straight at Hansol’s wide-blown eyes. “You want me to stop babying you? You're a _‘man’_ now? You want freedom? Then this relationship is entirely professional from now on. Don't come near me when there aren't cameras around, and I'll be sure to do my fucking damnedest not to bother you either!”  
  
“Seungkwa-” Hansol desperately flounders forward when the other begins determinately walking away from him, outstretched hand briskly grabbing at his upper arm. But Seungkwan immediately jerks it out of Hansol’s reach, causing his blood-red cloak to rip with an insufferably audible sound, and slide off his trembling shoulders.

“Don't touch me!” he yells, thick icy fog pouring out of his mouth and shrouding his face, erasing every last one of his features — from his pale, quivering lips to his squinting, shiny eyes. “Don’t you dare touching me ever again! I’m done with you, Chwe Hansol! I’m done!” He tears down the street and out of sight in a matter of seconds, and all Hansol is left with is his bleeding costume suspended from one limp hand as it flaps uncontrollably in the penetrating, thunderous wind.

  
Fuck, he’s so fucking stupid

 

 


	5. Time's Up

 

 

If you ever reached a stage in your life where you found yourself in a laundromat and had to wait for your load to finish, or if you ever were just curious to see the process of the washing machine at your own house as it tossed the clothes inside to all sides, creaked and groaned. If you ever ended up staying through the entire thing like Hansol had, watching as everything blended into rich white foam and water splashed around perpetually — then you might just have a pretty good understanding of what he is currently feeling like on the inside.

  
After all, love is the number one catalyst of heartache in the world and can make you feel like you need to bang your head repeatedly against a wall, and Hansol is more than inclined to believe such a statement.  
  
How could he not see it before? It’s so obvious now, Seungkwan is the one who always keeps him at balance.  
  
If he is the sky and the sun and everything that moves at once with a clamor, like the weather and the pouring rain, then Hansol is the earth and the soil and everything that grows over a long period of time, quietly, and without anyone ever taking notice.  
  
If Seungkwan is rose quartz, Hansol is serenity. If Seungkwan is a Hufflepuff: caring, loyal and patient, Hansol is a Ravenclaw: creative, compassionate but distant.    
  
Seungkwan is an ENFP and Hansol’s an INFP; If they were to be elements, Seungkwan would be water and Hansol would be wind. If they were to be the times of day, Seungkwan would be the sunrise and Hansol would be dusk. And if by some odd, unlikely chance they happened to be articles of clothing, Seungkwan would be best described as a sock and Hansol would be his fellow sock that gets lost during laundry, lodged underneath the rubber water seal for many other washes that would cause it to fray.           

 

 **D-1**  
  
  
  
**October 30th, 00:03 AM**

  
  
Wet little dots appear on the fabric of Seungkwan’s costume one by one and bleed together into a single dark spot. Hansol's hair sticks to his scalp and his shirt drapes around him heavily, like he's just finished soaking in an hour-long ice-cold bath.  
  
What the hell has he just done? Why can he never say the right thing? Why does he always have to blurt out the very first thought that goes through his head? But more importantly, why the hell can't he bring his feet to move, and why does it feel like he's about to crumble down and perish if he doesn't force himself to do so soon?  
  
Hansol crumples the torn cloak in one of his rocky hands. The fabric wrinkles and collects around his knuckles in soggy heaps, streaks of water dripping to the ground, adding to the trenchant pour of rain that increases with every passing second. He has to do something _now._ He has to go after him. He has to make everything alright again.  
  
If only he could reverse the clock just a few years back, to a time when things were a hell lot easier and he didn't feel as if he must walk on eggshells around his best friend.  
  
Hansol has to move.  
  
He glances down at the glaring crimson in his hand one more time; the big black frilly bow now hangs lifeless and heavy from the garment's front.  
  
How appropriate.  
  
The wind snatches Seungkwan's cloak and carries it to a nearby puddle when Hansol's shoes create a frantic trail of splashes across the ground. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ his mind screams at him as he races down the slope, past a playground where a cat flees to find shelter from the hail, and through a bunch of familiar streets irritatingly weaving in and out of each other, making it harder for him to secure a foothold as he makes a turn every few seconds, his shoes fumbling clumsily across the slippery asphalt.     
  
When Hansol reaches the dorm building his heart thumps madly up in his throat, the little oxygen he has left in his body coming out in short and shallow breaths. He pushes the entrance doors wide open with his shoulder and staggers inside.  
  
Hansol takes the steps two at a time, because right now, he can’t be bothered with waiting to the elevator, because even those three seconds are too crucial to be wasted.  
  
“Hyung, you’re here!” Chan calls when Hansol reaches his target floor and enters the corridor, noting how Wonwoo and Minghao, who are standing next to Chan near their apartment door, have been profoundly whispering to each other prior to his arrival. “Quick, you have to do something about Seungkwan-hyung, he came back from your walk very upset! Oh no, wait, you are all wet, too. That’s no good, you’re gonna catch a cold and make things mess _—_ ”  
  
“Chan.” Wonwoo grips Chan’s shoulder, and the younger falls back in silence like a kicked puppy.  
  
“Dude, don’t go in there.” Minghao grabs Hansol’s arm as he whizzes by them heedlessly, voice imploring. Hansol shakes him off with a scowl and quickens his step even more, because of course, of course he’s going to go in there. He’s going to go in there, drop to his knees, plead and bewail like he’s just assassinated the presidental family, and beg for forgiveness.  
  
After Hansol barges in, Jeonghan is the first one he recognizes.  
  
“How is he?” Jeonghan asks, thumbnail mercilessly jammed between his teeth as Mingyu treads to the front of the apartment from one of the bedrooms. “Seokmin’s still trying to calm him down, but I don’t really know how that’s gonna turn out, he won’t even let us six feet from him...” Mingyu responds, and Junhui squeezes Jeonghan’s shoulder right after.  
  
Both Jeonghan and Mingyu fall silent when they, along with everybody else in the living room, turn to look at Hansol as he limps his way into view, drenched shoes squeaking loudly across the floor tile. _“Vernon…”_ Jisoo murmurs and straightens up from his slouched sitting position against the wall.  
  
Seungcheol is the next person Hansol recognizes. As soon as he sees Hansol rushing past the members in the direction of the bedrooms, Seungcheol’s face hardens into a seething expression, and he begins charging toward the flat entrance. “What the hell did you do this time, you fucking bastard?!”  
  
“Hyung!” Jihoon tries to hold him back, but Seungcheol easily frees himself from him, eyes red with rage. “You aren't going near that fucking room even if it means I'll have to break every single one of your bones!” he barks at Hansol in warning.  
  
“Hyung, please listen to me! this isn't the way t—”  
  
“No, I won't listen! He made him cry again! That son of a bitch made him cry again, Jihoon, what the fuck am I supposed to do, huh?! How the fuck can I not get mad, Jihoon?!”  
  
Seungcheol’s words hit Hansol like a ton of bricks. He halts in his tracks, shaking his head fervently. _No, this isn’t true. He’s lying. He's lying,_ the self-justifying side of him tries to argue with all of its might, but something in him knows. Knows that Seungcheol isn't the one who's lying.  
  
“I didn't know, I didn’t know...”  
  
“God damn it, Hansol! You never know anything, do you?!” Seungcheol bashes his fist against the wall, and it shakes, causing everyone else in the room to startle. “Who do ya’ think he always comes running to whenever you don't pay him enough attention, huh?! Who do ya’ think has to pick up the pieces each fucking  time because you're too far up your own ass to notice how shitty your behavior is?!”  
  
The space around them floods with the animosity and anguish dripping from Seungcheol’s voice, and Jeonghan hides his face in Junhui’s shoulder with a sound frighteningly similar to a whimper. But the shouting only continues more harmful and venomous then before, “You know, I always tell him: ‘Don't take it to heart, Hansol is too dense for his own good, he's a nice guy. He doesn't mean anything by it.' But I'm fucking sick and tired of backing you up! I can't make any more shitty excuses, not when he's hurting so much!"  
  
“He’s right, you know,” Mingyu interjects, glaring spitefully at Hansol from across the room. “You’ve been acting like a huge dick recently. Don’t let it surprise you if he doesn’t want to talk to you ever again.”    
  
“Mingyu, don’t, pleas—” Jihoon starts, but Seungcheol silences him with a sharp gesture. “No, he can say whatever he wants, he has a full right to do so!”  
  
“Mingyu, please,” Jihoon asks again, regardless. “Just take the rest of the kids standing outside and get out of here.”  
  
“No, Mingyu, go check on him.”  
  
“Mingyu, take the rest of the kids and get out of here _now._ ”  
  
“Why should we cater to him?” Mingyu directs his attention at the clashing pair, finger pointed at Hansol’s steadfast form, fixed to the floor opposite them. “He’s the one at fault here, he’s the one who should be leaving!”  
  
“Shut up and do as I tell you once in your goddamn life, you brat! Do you want to make it harder for Seungkwan?!”  
  
Mingyu pipes down effectively after that. He draws his mouth into a critical line, and tramps toward the entrance with a huff, not missing out on the opportunity of bumping shoulders with Hansol on his way out. “I hope he doesn’t forgive you so easily this time,” comes the acidic hiss, then he’s gone with a resounding bang.  
  
Hansol feels like he’s just been run over by a truck and is slowly watching his entrails ooze out of his body into a gory mess at the side of the road. “Hyung, please let me go,” he tries to argue feebly.     
  
“Why should I?” Seungcheol snaps, bitter and imperious. “So you can make things even worse?”  
  
“B-because,” Hansol braces himself in front of his incriminating gaze, palms all of a sudden slick with cold sweat and dreadfully jittery — restless. “Because I have to.” His hands settle in a determined vise around the air, stern yet relaxed at the same time. “I have to.”  
  
“You don’t have to do anything, Hansol,” Seungcheol dictates, teeth ferally bared around his spat-out words. “Just stay put or get out of my sight!” The room seems to freeze at the thundering ultimatum, and everyone collectively hold in their breaths, anxiously waiting for someone to shatter the thick layer of ice.  
  
On any other day, Hansol would choose to surrender — yield to the demands of his challenger, and back away instantly. He despises conflict above all else, and tries to avoid confrontation as much as possible. ‘Live and let live,’ is his motto. He’s the kind of guy to simply accept others’ decisions and never insult or judge them personally. That is, until one of his principles is being put in jeopardy. Until something he feels strongly about, something he truly and deeply cares for, is being disparaged, spit and stepped on — not even given a second thought.  
  
Just because Hansol is generally a nice guy doesn't mean any short-tempered prick can withhold him from doing what’s right!  
  
“No, you stay put all you want. I’m going in there.” Hansol glowers at everyone who’d so much as dare call his decree into question, his voice uncharacteristically commanding as he roughly shoves Seungcheol out of his way.  
  
“I said to stay fucking put, you little shit!”  
  
Before Hansol can take another step, his arm is being yanked brutally backwards with enough force to dislocate his shoulder, and a heavy frame slams him against the nearest object, stealing all the oxygen from his lungs. The backrest of one of the sofa chairs crashes onto the living room floor with an echoing wham, and Hansol hears Seungcheol’s name being shouted out in barely distinguishable distress. His back screams at him in agony as Seungcheol throws his entire weight against his torso, forcing him into a grotesque angle: bended in two on the upturned legs of the couch, that keep on painfully jabbing into his spine while he struggles to free himself.  
  
“Get the fuck off!” Hansol rasps and reins in all of his power so he can fend off Seungcheol and flip him onto the ground. The chair gets pushed across the floor from the impact, and Seungcheol groans when his head hits the tile, tugging on Hansol’s collar ferociously. In a reckless, spur-of-the-moment kind of decision, the younger’s hands shoot around Seungcheol’s neck and fasten down firmly to cut his air supply short, thus keeping him in place.    
  
“You disrespectful… fucking... punk…” Seungcheol wheezes, blunt nails digging into the back of Hansol’s hands and leaving furious trails of blood.

Hansol’s hold falters, and Seungcheol coughs out a juicy insult before kneeing him in the stomach, causing him to recoil into a crouching position less than three feet away. And that’s the last thing Hansol registers, because immediately after, something hard and callous collides with his jaw in exceeding force, and he’s sent flying to the coffee table at the centre of the room, some of the glass shards the blow creates breaking through his exposed skin and leaving dripping crimson slashes all across his face and neck.  
  
For the second time this night, Hansol feels an agonizing pounding sensation taking residence in every last corner of his brain and rendering his vision muddy. Just this time, he also tastes the indisputable sharpness of iron on his tongue. He can faintly make out Seungcheol’s form looming above him like a vulture, preparing for the final assault, but then a third body enters his bleary view; knocking Seungcheol sideways before he can finish what he’s set out to do.    
  
“Stop!” Hansol hears an alien voice ringing hotly in his ears. At first he chalks it up to his tarnished receptiveness, but then the voice speaks up once more and he understands why it sounded so unfamiliar to him. “Seungcheol, stop it! Can’t you see that you’re the one making everything worse?! Just take a look around you and tell me what you see! Just look around you, for fuck’s sake! Look at what you’re fucking doing, Goddamnit! look at what you’re doing to Jeonghan!”  
  
There’s no questioning it, the faded signs of softness that still linger at the end of every snarled word, the rhotic accent which only seems to get stronger as the accusations grow more heated; this is Josh’s voice.  
  
Hansol never heard him raising his tone before, nor did he ever hear him swearing so much. These unsettling thoughts only become scarier in his mind when he finally brings himself to take in his surroundings.  
  
Jeonghan has completely curled up in Junhui’s embrace during the fight and is currently weeping uncontrollably into his chest. The two of them are sitting against the wall leading to the hallway, and Jihoon stands in front of them like a protective barrier, both arms spread out widely. Then there’s Jisoo and Seungcheol…

Jisoo and Seungcheol are lying rigidly on the floor only a few feet away from him, in a position very similar to the one he was holding Seungcheol in merely moments before. Only now it’s Jisoo who’s trapping Seungcheol down with one of the big couch cushions, knees digging into his thighs forcibly to prevent any chance of escape.        
  
“Just stop it! Just fucking stop it!” With the fury spewing from deep within his veins like bubbling magma, with the vicious, scalding sparks of sheer frustration explosively shooting from his bloodshot eyes, with the heat and the thick, stifling smoke that hangs around the two of them like a heavy cloud — with all of those comes the lavid and liquidy barrage of English exclamations. Fiery words turning cold and hard in Jisoo’s mouth like at the end of a volcano eruption, when everything is nothing but pristine black stone and barren, wispy lands;

“ _You should’ve talked to me! You should’ve let me know! You shouldn’t have lied, you should’ve said something..._ ” Jisoo mutters in a broken whisper, head held low, and in that moment, Hansol knows. Knows that these words — these sad, choked up words — are not meant for Seungcheol’s ears.  
  
“Jisoo, let me go, or so help me God I’ll kill you both!”  
  
“Cut it out!” A new voice booms throughout the room, and from the murky edges of Hansol’s wine-stained sight, Soonyoung steps out, instantly abandoning the grocery bag in one of his hands to the side and darting toward the brawling duo on the floor. “You two should feel ashamed of yourselves,” he says awfully grim as he tears Jisoo apart from Seungcheol and positions himself between them, eyes staring reproachfully down at the riled up leader. “Especially you, I expected much better from you. You’re supposed to play the responsible adult part, you should know better than this.”

Seungcheol only purses his lips harshly in return but doesn't get up from his place, and Jisoo ducks his gaze down at his shoes in guilt, hand bashfully rubbing at his upper arm.  
  
“Jihoon, I’m taking him, would you and Junnie be alright?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, just do it already!”  
  
“C’mon, get up.” Soonyoung reaches toward Hansol and grabs his elbow, and the fallen boy lets him pull him up, supporting one of his arms around his shoulders as they make their way outside the apartment and down to the ground floor.  
  
They walk through a knitted cluster of small, sleeping neighborhoods and turn a corner to the main street. Everything is a haze; It’s only when Soonyoung instructs him not to move from his spot by the bindaetteok cart while he goes catch a cab, does Hansol realize his legs have been operating all this time by their own. People don’t make a noticeable effort to disguise their repulsion as they pass him by, and Hansol can’t blame them, what with the way his bangs stick to his forehead with fresh trickles of blood, and his sopping, half-torn shirt barely clings to his bruised torso with the help of some unbroken threads. Fortunately enough, Soonyoung returns and pushes him inside an awaiting taxi before the ahjussi managing the stall he’s leaning next to can shoo him off for disrupting his customer flow.  
  
Next thing Hansol knows, they're at the company and Soonyoung swings the dance studio door wide open, rushing him inside. “Sit down. I’m gonna go see if I can find the first aid kit and bring you some towels.”  
  
“Hyung, I have to talk to him! I got to tell him I didn't mean it, I didn't know it'll turn out this way! It was a big misunderstanding, hyung, I could never stop liking him, hyung, I—”  
  
“The both of you are in no condition to have a proper conversation. You have to calm down first, Hansol, now you're just not in the right state of mind to be thinking things through. It wouldn't be smart to try talking with him before you figured out your own shit first. Also I'd hate to see you wind up at the hospital over a misunderstanding, so please, would you be so kind and sit down?”  
  
Hansol clicks his mouth shut and flops down to the linoleum floor. “C'mon, dry yourself up before this entire room starts to reek of wet dog fur,” Soonyoung says when he returns from the locker room a few minutes later, chucking a towel at his direction. Hansol catches it in his hands but doesn’t bother budging from the sagging position he has assumed against the mirror.

“Fuck, hyung. I'm so... bad.”  
  
“No, you're not. A little inconsiderate, maybe, but not bad.” Soonyoung gets on his knees in front of Hansol and unzips the first aid kit in his lap, placing the grocery bag he’s been carrying with him all this time near the mirror just beside them. Hansol shakes his head and buries it between his knees, arms instinctively wrapping around his shins to form a sheltering cocoon.

“It's all my fault, I hurt him so much, hyung. And now everyone's involved in this too and it's all my fault. I made him cry, hyung, and I chose to ignore it more than once. I'm so bad.”  
  
“I already told you, you aren't bad.” Soonyoung grips Hansol’s shoulder, signaling him to sit straight up. “Just somewhat clueless, and that's,” he pauses for a moment when Hansol’s eyes meet his own, lips quirking up into half a smile, “that's fine.”  
  
“Is it really?”  
  
Soonyoung’s hand falls from Hansol’s shoulder to his feet, lifting the forgotten towel off the floor.  “People make mistakes all the time,” he starts off matter-of-factly, grabbing a mineral water bottle from the pile of essential medical items he chose to retrieve from the locker room. “Take it from me, doing dumb shit is _the_ key to self-growth. It’s what allows guys like you and me to come face to face with our stupid wrongdoings and change for the better.”  
  
While he talks, Soonyoung soaks the towel in water, and holds Hansol’s jaw firmly between a thumb and a forefinger so he can wipe the gunk off his face, occasionally turning his chin to different sides to get a new area dabbed down. “None of us are born martyrs, kid, even the ones who pray four times a day and abstain from anything that’s considered ‘sinful’. There are some people like that who harbor more hate than even the most depraved criminals out there, and they aren't even the least aware that their blind loathing is fucked up and should probably be considered a sin in and of itself.”  
  
After Hansol’s face has been thoroughly cleaned off, and the once white towel transforms into a light rosy rag, Soonyoung tosses it aside, and takes the rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit in one of his hands along with a packet of cotton balls.

“You make shitty decisions, you own up to them — simple as that.”  
  
Hansol winces when the burning liquid comes in contact with the wide gash on his brow bone, and an acrid smell fills up his nostrils, traveling all the way down his itchy throat toward his lungs. He remains mostly quiet while Soonyoung continues to carefully disinfect the wounds on his neck and left cheek, only letting mild noises of discomfort slip through his gritted teeth when the sting from the alcohol gets too much for him to simply brush off.

“But sometimes people make shitty decisions that are impossible to fix...”  
  
“Trust me, this isn’t the case here.” Soonyoung furrows his brow, clicking his tongue as he finishes tapping the last of Hansol’s cuts with a piece of alcohol-drenched cotton. “Alright, kid, you're all patched up now and ready to take on the world.” He smacks Hansol’s shoulder with a hearty laugh, and after some further thought drags the grocery bag he’s set aside earlier, reaching inside and laying out two ice cream containers across the floor.  
  
“Want some? We ran out just before you came back and of course, who’s gonna be shipped off to the store in the middle of the night to restock on this crucial nutriment if not yours truly? It’s vanilla and choco mix, I think. Didn’t care to look, but I heard this combo is especially good for curing heartache. Shit, you might just actually need it, that bruise of yours is kinda starting to turn a really nasty purple. Here, press it to your chin and like, keep pressing for the next few hours.”  
  
“Hyung, what am I going to do?”  
  
Soonyoung sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Own up to your shitty decision, reflect, learn a few things about yourself.”  
  
Suddenly the air is too difficult to breath, it pierces through Hansol’s chest with countless tiny glowing knives. He thinks that if he doesn't die from a case of suffocation soon, than his rapidly beating heart would surely get the better of him in the end.

“Do you think I can really do that? Do you think the others will just forgive me like that? You think Seungkwan will? Do you think everything’s going to be just the same as before?”  
  
“Hansol, I think — I think you think too much,” Soonyoung all but groans. He rubs his face tiredly with both hands, but ruffles Hansol’s hair fondly shortly after and shuffles to sit next to him against the mirror, elbows automatically settling on his knees as he stares into the other side of the room with some kind of dutiful resolve. “That’s actually why I brought you here. I can’t say I know exactly what’s going on between you and Seungkwan. Hell, half of the time it seems like the two of you aren't even living in the same existential space with the rest of us. What I do know, though, is that whatever you’re going through right now is anything but good, and a pretty big part of it is because you can’t seem to open your eyes to what’s going on around you.”  
  
Soonyoung glances sideways at Hansol, his fingers still tangled up in the younger’s fringe, sweeping dirty bangs into huge and dark honey eyes, concealing them entirely under a frizzy mop of dyed hair.  
  
“I know you don’t mean to push other people away. You just don’t know any other approach,” Soonyoung’s voice reverberates around the studio, familiar and forgiving — similar to the tone one would speak with to a wounded animal, but strangely enough Hansol doesn't find any sign of insult or patronization in it.

“I do it too, in a way. When I come here alone sometimes, I get totally consumed by this inexplicable drive for perfection to an almost unhealthy degree. There’s something about these walls, the fact I can see my reflection staring back at me from every corner. It has a good and a bad side. It gives me the ability to look at things from multiple angles, which is great, but sometimes if I’m not careful enough I just let myself get trapped in here, revising choreo for hours upon hours and never reaching satisfaction. I think — I think in a way, the same thing can be said about you. You get trapped in your head. And here’s the thing, I realized that unlike my case, it’s not a physical thing you can step out of whenever you feel like.”  
  
The impassioned speech fades away momentarily and Hansol blinks, adjusting to regaining his sight after Soonyoung brushes his bangs away from his eyes. The older looks directly at him when he resumes talking, any hint of humor completely gone from his features, “Which is why I want you to stay the night looking at yourself from every possible angle, and step out of here first thing tomorrow morning. Step out of your head and don’t come back until your mind has been completely cleansed of useless thoughts. You’re the imaginative, eccentric type; I figured this sort of thing will speak to you.”  
  
A minute of peaceful silence passes, then Soonyoung bursts into a mad fit of laughter, and punches Hansol’s shoulder — fast enough to create a small margin between the two of them on the floor. “I know, you never thought your hip hyung would turn out to be such a lame-ass romantic.” He laughs some more, and scratches his upper lip in an unusual display of fickleness. “This idea is kinda wacky, isn’t it?”       
  
“No, it isn’t.” Hansol shakes his head. “It makes a lot of sense, actually. It’s just that… you want me to skip practice and I can’t do that. We have a comeback coming up soon.”  
  
Soonyoung smiles softly, mimicking the dismissing motions of Hansol’s head. “You can. You can and you will. One day without you isn't going to hurt our progress. Aside from performance team, you're probably the fastest learner. I trust you to pick things up straight from where we left off. Really, you’re fine. You’re better than you think, kid. Now, let’s go get us some blankets or something. We have a long night of sightseeing ahead of us.”  
  
~  
  
They bring over two dusty sleeping bags from the lounge and build a nest of comforters around them. Then they plummet onto the linoleum and sit against the mirror side by side, no margin; each with his own blanket armor. It’s quiet and warm and calming, but sort of weird — to say the least. Soonyoung jokes and says that if the atmosphere keeps on being like that, he’ll get up and dance and nothing can stop him. So Hansol stops him, pulls him straight back down and doesn't let go.  
  
“What do you see?” Soonyoung jerks his chin toward the mirror facing them. “You don’t have to answer...”  
  
A boy. Hansol sees a pale lanky boy with braces and a frizzy mop of brown hair on top of his head. At the moment, he might not look anything like that. His face might be longer, spattered with ugly crimson slits, jaw more defined, features chiseled — more mature. His shoulders may be broader, his chest and arms more muscular, and if he started talking the voice that would come out of his lips will surely be significantly deeper. But his eyes are still the same. And right now they're wide and questioning, staring at him with a sense of confusion and fear. Just as they were four years ago.  
  
Hansol blinks and shifts to his side, planning on sharing his thoughts with Soonyoung. But it turns out he’s been locked in his head for a longer time than he realized, because just when he opens his mouth to speak he notices that the other’s back is completely slumped against the mirror, head lolled downwards, eyes cast with the shadows of his bangs, and chest rising and falling in a relaxed, even pace. Hansol closes his mouth and continues to stare ahead at his reflection. His face hurts him like hell, he wouldn’t mind a break from the pain. His eyelids are heavy, scleras marked by striking red lines of exhaustion. He wants nothing more than to allow them some rest.    
  
Hansol doesn't fall asleep, and keeps on staring instead.  

  
  
**8:15 AM**

  
Soonyoung sends him off in the morning before anyone else gets to work, but not before making sure to give him something proper to wear, and checking that his condition hasn’t worsened overnight and he’s fit to get by on his own.  
  
Hansol is wearing one of the spare set of workout clothes Soonyoung keeps in the locker room for when he starts sweating too much. Although the pants end a little too high for his liking and the shirt doesn't have much arm space, stretching around his chest and shoulders when he shimmies into it, the hoodie is big and soft enough for him to forget all about those trivial discomforts. _It’s crazy,_ he thinks as he adjusts his mouth mask, and tugs the beanie lower on his head so it covers up most of his overgrown hair. It’s crazy how he once used to be a lot shorter and smaller than Soonyoung, and now he’s stretching out his clothes.  
  
Ridiculous as he may look, Hansol can’t bring himself to care if he’ll get stared at when he enters the coffee shop closest to the agency, on Soonyoung’s advice, and squeezes into an impatient line of office workers and universty students waiting to order the largest size available of the most caffeine-loaded option on the menu. He thanks the barista in English after she hands him his steaming cup of americano with a bright smile and a big thumbs up, ensuring him of its superior quality in a butchered valley girl accent:  _“You like this — we coffee even better than America!”_

He’s not even out the door and he can already hear her gossiping in poorly-whispered Korean with her coworker about the handsome white foreigner with the scary cuts on his face and horrible fashion sense. Once he exists the café he puts the mask back over his mouth and pulls his hoodie over his head, deciding to keep them that way for the rest of the day.  
  
The hot beverage soon grows cold in Hansol’s grasp after he absentmindedly plays with the plastic cap, repeatedly taking it on and off and ending up dropping it on the sidewalk. He continues to wander aimlessly through random streets with the steadily cooling cup held stiffly in his right palm, not stopping to take a single sip from it all the while.  
  
What can he say? Coffee just doesn’t strike him as particularly tempting at the moment.    
  
Eventually Hansol finds himself a nice chunk of wall to lean on, and stays standing against it for a long time, simply observing the busy pedestrians as they rush to and fro different places. One of the people crowding the area pushes an amateurly-designed leaflet into his hands promoting the newly-opened laundromat a couple streets away, and Hansol skims over it, slightly choking on his frozen americano after he brings the styrofoam cup to his lips without remembering to look first. He folds the paper into quarters and pockets it into his sweatshirt as he detaches himself from the wall, thinking that if he hadn’t become a singer he would probably be distributing flyers on the street right now, or working the cash register at a coffee shop. That, or he would more likely be dead in a ditch somewhere like Seungkwan predicted.  
  
Maybe that’d be for the better — if he were indeed dead someplace in which no one could find him. It’d be better for the group, and it’d especially be better for Seungkwan...  
  
Well, on second thought, maybe killing himself off wouldn't be the wisest decision he could make. It’d create more problems for their band than it would fix, and Seungkwan would just end up blaming himself for it like he always does when anything bad happens — and that knowledge is something Hansol just can't live with. Besides, he is pretty sure his family would still miss him if no one else did. So again, jumping off a building is something that he couldn’t ever attempt doing in good conscience.  
  
Fuck, he wishes he could at least speak with his parents for a bit and ask for some kind of guidance —  but he doesn't have his cellphone on him, and he certainly doesn't have enough guts to go back and grab Soonyoung’s after the whole ordeal he had him go through this morning. Borrowing a phone from a stranger is obviously out of the question as well...  
  
Perhaps it’s best if he can’t contact his family. What would they have to say about the huge mess he’s created? Would they be mad at him? He guesses not, but his mother would certainly sit him down for a long talk and scold him. She adores Seungkwan, after all. She actually told him once that only a very small percentage gets to meet someone like Seungkwan in their lifetime, and that he should cherish their relationship dearly and not fuck things up unless he wants to get himself a big whopping — and he knows that she doesn't believe in physical punishment under any circumstances, so she must’ve been extremely serious about it.  
  
Hansol supposes he deserves his big whopping right about now. He really did fuck up majorly, didn’t it? He can’t even begin to imagine what he would say to Sofia if he were to see her after everything that’s happened. It was always important to him to act like someone she could look up to — but currently, he can’t think of a less moral example than himself. Seriously, what kind of role model is he? Worst older brother and son in history, that’s what he is. Not to mention the shittiest best friend to ever exist...  
  
Hansol tosses his barely finished coffee into the nearest trash can and crams his cold, shaky hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt, teeth chewing on his lower lip strenuously.  
  
No, he shouldn’t encourage such depressing thoughts and think so lowly of himself. Soonyoung promised him yesterday that people make mistakes all the time. According to this philosophy, he isn’t different from any other human being on this planet, right? He should listen to Soonyoung and at least, for his sake, try to change his outlook somewhat. Maybe it’d help. Maybe if he’ll stop thinking so much everything wouldn't hurt as badly and he’ll finally find an answer to the total chaos rampaging in his head.  
  
Maybe...    
  
Hansol’s fingers curl up inside his pocket, accidentally brushing against the folded flyer from earlier on their mission to dig anxious dents into his palm. He nearly gets a whiplash when he snaps his body around and begins pacing determinately in the other direction from where he was previously heading toward — to the newly-opened laundromat just four or five streets away.  
  
It turns out that not thinking is harder than he imagined it to be. Even when focusing his entire attention on a brand-spanking-new line of spotless chrome washing machines. Maybe it’s because he has no clothes he can shove inside one of them to start up the process — or any money for that matter. And in any case, it’s pretty silly to seek out something like this every time he feels the need to lose himself to the world and all of its stressful, convoluted systems.  
  
Maybe it’s more beneficial if he doesn’t have this kind of distraction, which is not really a distraction but more of a white noise to his thoughts.  
  
Maybe that’s what Soonyoung meant when he said that he gets stuck in his head. He finds the easy way around his problems by spending too much time locked up in his thoughts, basically feeling sorry for himself while doing stuff that’ll divert his attention from the scary outside world — like looking at how washing machines operate, for example.  
  
He does it because it’s ritualistic: safe, unchanging and doesn't require him to actually face the things that trouble him in real life.  
  
Maybe he should really get out of his head and adopt a new perspective — that of a person who tends to see things more at face value and act upon social obstacles instead of complicate situations through endless pondering. Maybe overthinking, sometimes, can make you self absorbed and blind to the most obvious details.       
  
In the end, and probably by some mysterious force that the majority of Seoul's superstitious populace would come to call inevitable fate, Hansol’s legs carry him to his quiet place — one of the vast green banks of the Han River in Yongsan District, which people pay a visit to on bright, warm days along with family and friends to throw picnics and soak in the sun. October doesn’t have much of those days to offer, and it’s already starting to get dark by the time Hansol arrives, so the area is mostly vacant — save for a couple who’re cuddling happily with each other on top of a big colorful mat, just a few feet away from where he picks himself a dry patch of grass to sit on.    
  
Usually, Hansol would come to the river equipped with his trusty pair of earphones blaring music at the highest possible volume, and a notepad to scribble on all the fleeting thoughts he could later turn into lyrics. Sometimes, he’d even bring a special friend, someone whom he trusts enough to invite into his secret retreat, and whom he can simply lie back with while talking nonsense for hours.

Usually, he doesn't let his brain have a single quiet moment to itself.

But this time around it’s different. This time he has nothing to drown out the constant pelting of the outside with — like hard hitting hip hop beats or the casual chattering of a close friend. This time, the only company he can afford himself is the swishing sounds of water and the deafening vacancy of his own mind.  
  
He watches the sun as it slowly inches towards the horizon, hiding its brilliant orange rays behind the intricate frame of Banpo Bridge — which will soon light up with its own set of magnificent colors.  
  
The temperature gradually drops, and the air surrounding Hansol starts to feel like miniature icepicks pricking the tip of his nose and ears. Even then, the giggling and sweet, hushed murmurs of the couple beside him don’t die out for a second.

He concludes that it must be love.

It must be love that drives people crazy enough to go outside when it’s absolutely freezing and risk losing their toes just so they could talk with their object of affection.  
  
Of course…

How could he not see it before? What else can it be if not love?    
  
Hansol stirs in alarm when the couple next to him get up from the grass and collect their belongings into a basket. He tries to move back into the protective shadows of an acer tree when they walk past him to stand at the very edge of the bank, and bathe in the glowing streams of liquefied rainbow erupting from both sides of the bridge. Neither of them pays him any attention, and Hansol starts to speculate that perhaps, they never noticed him to begin with. He thinks, once again, that it must be love.  
  
The man brushes the woman’s hair behind her ear and leans down to whisper something into it, tone muffled yet clearly cheerful. His girlfriend immediately hits his arm and shouts something about how utterly stupid and perverted he is, but still laughs and stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Hansol watches the two of them with a tinge of jealousy staining his heart when they retract from the verge of the bank and begin strolling away, interlocked hands swinging in a lazy manner between their bodies and the kaleidoscopic lights of Banpo Bridge following them like a floating cape as they slowly disappear out of his sight. He thinks it must be nice. To be able to hold hands with the one you love and not care if a stranger might see you.        
  
A sudden screech infiltrates Hansol’s musings, and he snaps his head to look at a lean figure straddled on a small vehicle, which wheels have just come to an abrupt stop eight feet away from him on the boardwalk. _“Vernon, you’re here,”_ Jisoo pants as he dismounts his bike, gentle smile and cat-like eyes illuminated with an umbrella of shimmery blues and greens. _“Thank God, I was looking for you. You weren't here when I was asking about you a few hours ago.”_  
  
There’s something fundamentally shaking about hearing Josh’s soft-spoken English, seeing his face painted with so much relief, and realizing that it was concern and not pity or disgust that he was regarding him with all this time. Hansol can’t hold it in any longer; the dam in his chest finally collapses. His eyes flood with current after current of hot tears, and he begins sobbing loudly into his wobbling hands like a baby.       
  
“Oh, God, are you alright?” A radiating heat spreads along Hansol’s spine when Jisoo hurries to join him on the swampy grass and sling an arm around his quivering form, right hand brushing awkward, uncertain shapes into his upper back.    
  
“Is it wrong?” Hansol hiccups and turns to discover Jisoo’s wide eyes and cross helix piercing reflecting a myriad of radiant purples and pinks like little shiny mirrors.    
  
“What is?”  
  
“This feeling — is it wrong for me to feel like this? Am I disgusting to you? Do you think—” Hansol’s breath hitches in his throat, and a new rush of fat, gross tears rolls down his slithery cheeks. “D-Do you think you’ll come to hate me?”  
  
“Dude, I could never hate you, you’re like my actual brother,” Jisoo replies solemnly, his face clouding up as if the mere idea offends him to the very core. “Look, I know I may not agree with you on everything, or I might have a different worldview than you and less tolerance for certain stuff, but I would never think you’re disgusting or wrong for feeling something out of your control. I mean, we have our disagreements, right? Like, I like jjampong, you like jjajangmyeon. You like pork, I like beef. But in the end, we both prefer dipping over pouring.” Right after he draws his little analogy, Jisoo clicks his tongue and waves his hand about in a rejecting motion. “Sorry, I’m not the best motivational speaker,” he stammers. “My point is, I love you, man. We all do. Nothing can take away from that.”  
  
“Wow, thanks,” Hansol sniffs, wiping dirty salt streaks off his cheeks with the back of his hand. “It actually really helps,” he admits through another pitiful string of hiccups. “Though I wish I’ve heard those things sooner…”     
  
Jisoo sighs in relief and pats the younger’s back encouragingly one last time before letting his arm fall into his lap. “It’s funny, y’know, ‘cause you’re probably the least judgmental person I know but you tend to be so hard on yourself,” he mutters, plucking a wilted blade of grass from the ground and twirling it between his fingers gingerly. “You shouldn’t bottle up your emotions like that and wait for them to explode. If something’s bothering you, you can come talk to me, or any of the guys —  even Seungcheol, I’m sure. Just wait a little bit until he cools down.”  
  
After Jisoo’s words dissolve into the wind, Hansol presses his lips against his folded knees, a thin smile pulling at his cheeks. “Thanks, man. Seriously. I don’t know what I would’ve done without an awkward pep talk from my favorite embarrassing dad.”  
  
Jisoo snorts. “You should be glad I didn’t use more food-related metaphors.” He nudges Hansol playfully, then looks beyond him toward the river, face all of a sudden taking on the melancholic black shadows of the night. _“I was really worried about you, you know?”_  
  
They remain quiet for a good couple of minutes, Hansol glancing through his bangs at Jisoo who’s drawing abstract shapes into the muddy ground with a small branch. He eventually tires of just watching and lets his back fall heavily against the wet grass, groaning an elongated series of _‘Fuck’s_ ’ into his palms on his hasty way down.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid, cheer up.” Jisoo pokes his stomach with the twig. "You two love each other far too much to let something this stupid come in between you.”  
  
“Kid?” Hansol unveils his face from beneath his hands to quirk an eyebrow in half hearted offence.

“Yeah,” Jisoo laughs. “Look at you, you’re covered in snot, it only feels appropriate calling you that.”  
  
“I do act like a kid, don’t I?”  
  
“A kid with thoughts far more mature for his age.” Jisoo smiles and leans back onto the ground, bumping his elbow into Hansol’s ribs as if to say ‘scoot over’. “I always thought that about you, you know? Sometimes, I wish I could have your mind, but then I get reminded of dumb crap like this and feel happy simply being the dimwit I am.”  
  
“Oh. I never knew you felt this way,” Hansol hums, clearing some more space beside him for Jisoo to lie on. “What else do you think about me that I don’t know of?”  
  
“You're a very kind and considerate person even if you can’t see it yourself at the moment.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really.” Jisoo nods. “It’s just that you tend to have these very high expectations — from yourself and from others. It’s sad to see you get so disheartened because the world can’t always be perfect. It’s another thing I like about you, actually — your idealism. Even though this quality can really bring you down sometimes, it’s very admirable in my opinion.”  
  
“You know,” Hansol drones. “I’ve always really admired your strong mentality and patience. I mean, you rarely let things get to you — I think that’s amazing.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really.”    
_  
_ _“Thanks, man.”_  
  
“Hmm...”  
  
“Are you gonna come back now?” Jisoo whispers after another long silence.  
  
“I think I’m gonna stay here a little longer.”  
  
“Okay...”  
  
As Jisoo rides away from there on his bike, Hansol feels all very silly about himself and life in general. As a gust of wind creates ripples across the river surface a short distance away from his sitting spot, he thinks that it’s all very logical now.  
  
If the wind blows violently, it creates rents in the water and causes it to crash onto the shore in large, dark waves. If the sky is gray and the weather is stormy, the soil gets soaked in rain, and everything that grows on it gets demolished. Because as much as the wind gives new direction for the water to flow in, and the sky and weather breath new life into the earth — as much as they balance each other out and help one another flourish and prosper, in the end they are capable of bringing upon each other the worst kind of destruction.  
  
So far, October has been nothing but one vicious and unstoppable typhoon and Hansol wants his sun back. He rises up from the ground, rubbing the dirt off of his clothes and the cowardice off his heart. Instead of taking the train back to the dorms, he walks all the way to where he departed from that morning, and opens the dance studio door to discover the distinguished sun waiting for him, sitting limply against one of the mirrors.  
  
Seungkwan lifts his drooping head from a filthy sleeping bag he hugs tightly to his chest, and Hansol feels like weeping again, because when their eyes meet he can clearly tell Seungkwan has been crying all day long, but all he does is cover his mouth in horror and look at him with such a sad, soft expression.

“Your face! Did Seungcheol-hyung do this to you? Oh, God, you’re completely dirty! Have you been out all day? Did you eat anything? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

While Seungkwan talks, Hansol notices how he stops to sniff after every question, and that he’s surrounded from all sides by piles of crumpled tissues. _It can’t be just the crying,_ he concludes. _He must’ve caught a cold yesterday…_  
  
“I’m so sorry, I shouldn't have said those things to you last night!” Seungkwan sputters before Hansol can say or do anything. “You were right, I was treating you like a baby. I don’t know why I thought that was okay for me to do — I knew how it frustrates you when people don’t take you seriously or ignore what you have to say, but still I did those very same things to you! I didn’t consider your feelings, I didn’t even bother asking you to share them with me. And I know you sometimes struggle with being open about things like this, so I should have tried harder to make you talk! I’m the worst best friend ever, please forgive me — I acted without thinking yesterday!”  
  
Seungkwan cuts his maniacal surge of words to release a heavily shaky breath. “B-but it’s all okay now.” He nods his head vigorously. “Because I w-won’t do it anymore! I’m not going to treat you like a baby anymore, so please, please just come back… I’m so sorry, Hansolie...”  
  
Seungkwan chokes out the last sentence and glances up at Hansol apprehensively, his eyes and voice carrying so much desperation in them, the younger can’t help but want to somehow make it so they would’ve never met in the first place — because he’s the one who did this. He’s the one who made Seungkwan so broken.    
  
“Stop,” Hansol says, and before Seungkwan can ask him what he means, he continues in the most sincere and gentle tone he can manage. “Please stop apologizing for something that isn’t your fault. You always do that. Why? You always say sorry for things you didn’t even do. Please don't feel guilty, Seungkwan. Don't apologize because I was an asshole who took you for granted. Don’t ever beat yourself up like that because of my shitty decisions.”  
  
Hansol inhales deeply and directs his eyes straight at Seungkwan’s, taking advantage of his astonished silence to get the thoughts that have been troubling him for the past month off his chest.  
  
“I acted like a child,” he professes. “I thought that no matter what I do you’ll always be there. I thought I can just put you on the back burner until I came to some kind of understanding with myself, because I was confused. And somehow being around you, sleeping in the same bed, letting you touch me, going places like we usually do, even just talking to you, made me feel all the more confused and I didn’t know why — so I kinda decided that distancing myself would be what works things out, that that’s what’s gonna make my feelings less complicated. But I was wrong. It only made everything messier and harder to figure out, and the fact I couldn't tell you about what I was going through drove me even more insane. I was selfish when I chose to ignore you. I hurt you and I was too thick to realize that. It didn’t even cross my mind that you might get affected, all I cared for was my own misery. I was completely blind to anything besides it. And last night — last night finally made me realize what a fucking jerk I was, and that I should’ve talked with you before anything else. Because relationships aren’t one-sided and you deserve to be treated with respect.”  
  
Hansol allows himself a short rest in order to observe Seungkwan’s puzzled expression and make sure the whole information had sunk in. He takes another prolonged breath to relax himself before his next words, swallowing down the black knot of anxiety in the back of his mouth.  
  
“Seungkwan, I was so scared I would lose you forever, last night,” he manages to finally utter in a steady tone. “I was so scared that I even considered living on the street from today on just so I wouldn't have to come back and see that you were still mad at me. But I came to the conclusion that I had to come back and face you even if you really wanted nothing to do with me anymore, because I owe you a huge apology. I care for you far too much to disappear without saying sorry first. So here it is: I’m so very sorry for neglecting our relationship and blaming you for the gap I myself created. I’m so, so sorry — really, I can’t stress this enough. I’ve learned my lesson and all I can do now is hope that you’ll be willing to take me back after all the bullshit I’ve put you through. ”  
  
After another slight pause in his speech, Hansol adds: “Also, you probably don't want to hear this right now, but I want you to know that I’m not confused anymore.” He unravels his fists and lets them smooth out by his sides, thick emotion bubbling up in his throat, unable to be tamed any longer. “I like you, Boo Seungkwan.” His voice comes out surprisingly bold.  
  
“I like you more than just a bandmate or a brother or even my best friend. I like you like I’ve never liked anyone else before, and I think I’m kinda starting to understand what my mom meant when she said I was extremely lucky to have met you, that one time. She was right, who else would’ve accepted me on the very first meeting like you did and never laugh at my weird ideas or my tendency to space out? Who else would stay up to talk to me for hours about how mold spots on walls are memories houses hold onto from their previous tenants, or that penguins in the Southern Pole most likely think they’re the rulers of the Earth? Who else would’ve been able to make me smile and laugh as much as you do? Who else would inspire me like you do, encourage me to be a better person and never push me to be someone I’m not? No one, Seungkwan. That’s why, I feel like you should know that you’re truly one of a kind, you’re the greatest person I ever had the fortune of meeting, I really really like you, and, yeah, um...” Hansol releases a graceless string of sounds poorly mimicking laughter. “I d-don’t really know what to say after that...”    
  
“I like you too,” Seungkwan mutters, his demeanor unconventionally sheepish as he slides up the mirror and holds his left bicep in his right hand to form a nervous cross at his front. “I’ve liked you since the moment I introduced myself to you four years ago and you were stammering so much I could barely understand a single word that was coming out of your mouth. Then you tried apologizing and almost killed yourself in the process by tripping over your own shoelaces, and I remember thinking you were the cutest and purest little thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Well, I still do.”     
  
“Cutest?” Hansol cracks a crooked smile, eyebrows raised all the way up to his hairline in disbelief. The corners of Seungkwan’s eyes curve upwards and his full cheeks adorn with little dimples, giving him the impression of a contented cat. “More than all the baby bunnies and newborn puppies in the world,” he croons.  
  
“Purest?” Hansol questions a second time, because he’s having a really hard time believing those claims at the moment.  
  
“Honest, thoughtful, kind hearted, quirky and so very transparent,” Seungkwan insists. “The embodiment of pure.”      
  
“You know me,” Hansol laughs out joylessly.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Hansol’s whole body slumps in shame. His eyes, which are full of atonement, examine Seungkwan’s face carefully for any sign of remaining hurt. “I’m sorry...”  
  
“I know. It’s alright, I forgive you. I can never stay mad at you for too long anyway.” Seungkwan smiles at him again, that little barely-even-there-smile that manages to color his entire face in warm hues.  
  
That does it. Hansol can’t stay still any longer. His legs scurry hectically across the floor so he can wrap both arms around Seungkwan’s waist in a secure vise and hoist him up, capturing him mid-air with a bone-crushing hug. Seungkwan reciprocates the gesture right away, hands finding purchase at the back of Hansol’s sweatshirt, clutching the sullied fabric as though his life’s hanging on the line.  
  
Hansol buries his face in Seungkwan’s neck, breathing as much as he can of that heady sweet scent into his lungs. He didn’t know how much he’s been craving this right up until now. He hadn't realized how much he needed to be able to feel Seugkwan close to him, to be able to smell him, to share with him all the million and one thoughts that swarm his head on a daily basis. Right now, though, only one thing occupies his mind. And so, he tells it precisely as it is; without holding back the longing sentiment from his voice, “I love you, Seugkwan. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Once he says it, at last, he can’t help but say it a hundred times more, just in case the first ninety-nine times weren't clear enough. He only ceases murmuring admiring confessions into Seungkwan’s ear when a warm moisture starts spreading on his shoulder, and he senses the boy in his arms trembling against him.     
  
“Why are you crying??” Hansol whisks Seungkwan backward so he can have a better look at his face, hands frantically wiping the wet streams flowing down his cheeks.  
  
“Because I’m h-happy!” Seungkwan exclaims in a whiny, wavery tone, eyes producing even more tears without any sign of stopping. “What are you g-grinning so much about?” He pouts at Hansol indignantly, sniffing something fierce.    
  
“Because I’m happy!” Hansol laughs when Seungkwan shoves his chest off in a half-assed attempt at protest, then immediately hides his puffy, snotty face in it, continuing to wail about how much Hansol means to him and that he thought he won't get to hear him say ‘I love you’ even in a thousand years — ‘cause Hansol’s the slowest person on Earth, and that’s how long he imagined it would take him to reach this realization.  
  
All Hansol can do is laugh. He’s over the moon with the night’s recent developments, with having Seungkwan happy again and acting more like his usual lively self. Also, knowing the two of them share the same feelings is certainly an enormous mood boost all in its own right.  
  
At some point, they find themselves swaying from side to side in a tight, intimate embrace, their foreheads touching and lips mere inches apart, and Hansol whispers a hopeful “Can I...?”  
  
“I’m sick…”  
  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
  
“Of course it matters, stupid-head, you’re going to catch a cold!”  
  
Hansol shakes his head stubbornly, detaching himself from Seungkwan so he can get on one knee before him and hold his left hand in his. “Boo Seungkwan, formal prince and representative child of Jeju Island, son of the lovely Madam Jwa and his Excellency, Sir Father Boo, would you be willing to grant me the grand honor of being the first person in history to ever capture your cute pouty lips?”    
  
“Pfttt, what are you saying? You’re ridiculous! This is ridiculou—”  
  
  
  
**D-00** **  
****  
****  
****October 31st, 00:00 AM** **  
**

  
“Seungkwan, may I kiss you?”  
  
“Yes… yes, you may.”  
  
Hansol’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest as he gets back up from the linoleum on his wobbly legs and positions his head directly in front of Seugkwan’s, staring intently at his lips with a mixed sense of excitement and fear. He first stretches his available arm to touch the mirror behind Seungkwan, then fumbles to grab his shoulder instead, not quite seeming to decide on how many degrees he should ideally tilt his head in, and if he just needs to go for it, or wait for a specific special moment, or like, a sign from some divine being that’ll confirm that it’s, in fact, one hundred percent okay to proceed.     
  
“Here’s an idea, you should probably consider quitting biting your lips. I’m supposed to be kissing those, remember?”  
  
“Oh, r-right. Sorry, I’m just, um, uh — sorry.”  
  
Seungkwan chuckles and grasps the back of Hansol’s neck gently, as to not brush any of his cuts. “C‘mere, doofus,” he instructs with a wide grin and guides Hansol’s head down with a light push.  
  
The initial kiss is merely a brief and chaste graze of their lips, shy and experimental. The first thought that pops into Hansol’s head is that Seungkwan’s lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, and his face up close just as beautiful — even after an entire day of hysterical crying. He keeps his eyes open so he can see the way in which Seugkwan’s eyelashes flutter prettily atop his blushed cheekbones, but shuts them close when a hand threads through his hair and brings their mouths harder against each other, pressing urgently. The fingers of their intertwined hands lock together more tightly, and after gaining some confidence, Hansol cups Seungkwan’s cheek with his free palm, licking his lips tentatively. The little sound that follows soon after certainly doesn’t escape his attention, and if it was ever in his plan to maintain some kind of composure, then he sure as hell does a stupendously terrible job in going through with it.  
  
Seungkwan grants Hansol’s tongue permission to enter his mouth, and the younger doesn’t waste another second; he smashes their connected hands on the mirror above Seugkwan’s head, and angles his jaw sideways to get a better taste of every single inch of his mouth, sucking and pulling on his plump lips interchangeably each time they part from one another in order to sneak in a ragged breath — an action which earns him plenty more delicious muffled noises. Not before long the two of them melt down to the floor in a heated and clumsy mess of limbs, one of Seugkwan’s arms, which isn’t completely laced around Hansol’s shoulders, traveling down the younger’s back to give his ass a firm squeeze.

  
“Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself,” he laughs into Hansol’s mouth when they take another break to restore the oxygen into their lungs. Hansol responds by pulling Seungkwan into his lap and reaching behind to grab a handful of his buttcheeks. The older's lips curve around a sharp, totally erotic gasp, stirring something animalistic inside Hansol’s gut which drives him to attack Seungkwan’s mouth even more hungrily — maybe a tad bit too hungrily.              
  
“I’m pretty sure your nose isn’t supposed to go in there,” Seungkwan chastises and spits a wayward strand of hair out of his mouth.  
  
“S-Sorry, I got too excited,” Hansol stutters out awkwardly. “Your teeth don’t smell too bad, though. Are you sure we’re using the same mouthwash?”  
  
A second passes, then another, then the two of them burst into a deranged fit of giggles, sprawled together against the mirror in probably the least sexy position anyone could possibly imagine.  
  
Seungkwan’s brow furrows as his eyes roam across Hansol’s face, his fingertips daring to flicker up the younger’s neck and ghost over the bruised skin ever-so-slightly. “I want you to sleep with me tonight, okay?”  
  
“W-woah, isn’t it a little too early for that? Not that I have a problem with it if that’s what you really want, I’ll gladly do it with yo-”  
  
“God damn it, Hansol! Sleep as in, lie horizontally on a bed together and snuggle! What the hell is even going on in your head?!”  
  
“So... you don’t want to have sex with me?”  
  
“Of course I want t— You know what?” Seungkwan detangles himself from Hansol’s form, scrambling to get himself out of his compromising position and standing up straight. “Forget I ever said anything!” He flares up, all disheveled hair, puckered lips and puffed out cheeks. “I’m leaving. You can stay here with your stupid sleeping-bag for the rest of eternity for all I care!” In his flurry, Seungkwan finds the said sleeping bag balled up somewhere at the corner of the room, and throws it at Hansol as a form of distraction while he tries to escape. Hansol’s vision fills with a screen of dust and polyester, but before he can remove the annoying fabric away from his face and chase after Seugkwan, the studio door slams shut, leaving him to fend a violent fit of coughs all by his own with a lovestruck smile on his face that stretches from ear to ear.    
  
“Sweet.”  
  
Later that night, when Hansol is tucked safely between two stifling layers of wool, a tattered duvet from way back that he hasn’t been the least aware still exists, and Seungkwan’s soft, ever-caressing arms, he asks himself if he truly deserves all the good things in his life. Seungkwan silences his concerns with a single plush kiss, affirming him that yes, he is worthy enough, and that he should never even dare thinking otherwise if he doesn’t want Seungkwan to wage a personal vendetta against him. “Also”, Seungkwan adds as his thumbs make squiggly lines from Hansol’s cheeks to trace the dark outlines of his under-eye bags, “we should really stop talking for now.”  
  
It doesn't hurt so badly anymore, Hansol realizes as Seungkwan's delicate fingers keep applying gentle pressure to his skin. The only thing that aches in pain now is his body. It's a good kind of pain, though — a pain that lets him know he's still alive and kicking after all.  
  
“Goodnight, Vernonie.”  
  
“Goodnight to you too, Prince Boo.”  
  
“Believe me, you’re lucky I love you.”  
  
When Hansol closes his eyes shortly after wishing his boyfriend sweet peaceful dreams, he doesn’t end up opening them for another full eight hours.   

 

 


End file.
